I want to run but there’s nowhere to flee.

I’m stuck somewhere between who I was and who I should be.

I see the path so clearly—

The crunch of heels trekking through the towering trees.

Distant echoes of hikers chattering on the whim.

The easing whisper of the wind.

I live because I am creative.

My creativity helps me live.

This body birthed bodies,

make him lay out like I done caught a body,

and still,

I say this body is

‘just fine.’

When the clock stops ticking,

what secrets will haunt the depths of your soul?