I wear other people’s clothes

I wear other people’s clothes.

I can’t resist wanting to know what it’s like to be you.

Maybe it’s better than being me.


Maybe it’s a bit of relief from being me.

A north star, because being me is disorienting.

Quiet and disorienting in that no one has taught me to read the shapes

To divine out of the puddles

Meaning, or what i feel, or what I’m supposed to do.



Apparently the harder path is easier.

So after this,

I content myself with the unreadable scribbles in the ash.

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