I travel, I plant, I paint (mainly walls), I scoot, I tie dye, I write

I’m not laughing, I mean, there isn’t anything witty
But isn’t it funny how you feel from a little victory.
It’s a dark sense of humour, it’s a tireless joke,
Fully aware I can fall while balancing of this wire of hope.

Only a second on a hand, a millimetre on a mile,
A weightless baby step that has polar shifted the dial,
But this seed had grown roots, searching through the earth.
I can’t help but wonder of what a leap could birth.

No rushing ahead, mind stop, don’t get set up for upset.
Need to learn to enjoy the small and when expectations are met,
But I’ll still be fighting, this plant will grow on its own.
It’s not a rose. Yet it’s often forgotten that weeds get overgrown.

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