i sit in a car
the poet in me rises
as my identity blurs
with the cars and trees
i lose myself
as words find me
and lace me with
a sense of homeness
where i don’t have to be
a specific someone to belong
i can be without being
and i can breathe without
really feeling
and i can speak without
sound or effort
and i can connect without
fear or attachment
my fingers carry on
writing words
that i did not know
existed between
the very fibers
of my bones
i get lost
but it feels so safe
that i take myself deeper
and further into the unknown
as my papers fill and my heart
beats without any throbs
allowing me to glide
into the depth
without
disturbing
the souls
and birds
getting
lost
to find
themselves
too
