The response in me is inbred,
A passed down trait in throw away fashion.
It’s being led by instinct to places far and near,
Searching for something that keeps slipping my mind.
I stand, crawl, flee from the monsters that truly exist.
The years have tackled me down, forcing me to look at the waste that’s left behind.
While I hide behind my wit and guide of normality,
The truth is there just waiting for me to tear my weary eyes away from pain,
From the brooding and the endless pity party of one.
The goal is to see and search with a heart full and shining soul.


About ingridfalconi

I'm a married mother of three and a published author.
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