Growing leaves.

It’s like a pep talk of sorts.  Telling yourself to remember what you believe . When the time comes to believe it. And I remember to look in the mirror. But I’m worried about how other people would see it. So I’m hiding behind my fears believing somehow that I’m not the one that shows them.
And I’m telling lies from behind a mask. Pretending I’m the one that knows em’ knows em. knows em. knows em. So if i were to hold my head up high.
What would I ever try to say,  I’m the one that tells stories in difficult ways remember?.  Words fly into months and suddenly your in touch with what it feels like to be September.  leaves that turn green make the world only seem that if we never look in pockets we obviously forget to look in seems.

I’m just trying to figure this phenomenon cause it makes no sense to me, I’m trying to work through truth as if it were unknown tales from trees. That speak forth from winds that blow and sway giving life from breath to breath in motion, until leaves give way to water being drowned from Ocean to Ocean. And we’re hoping that if waves can somehow take us further than we thought, we would float down streams of effortless dreams leaving endless scars half-open. It’s not easily known where our demons go to hide, and so we gotta try and find em. But once we do we also have to gain the courage to deny em. So instead we grow leaves to hide places we need to reprieve, and let flowers bloom instead of hidden doom, and in return for our exchange we let sleeping demons loom. Not always the best place to be, until we learn the dance our demons need.

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