Path

The cold creeps up my legs
I set them one before another
Wandering further in the night
The morning is still a few hours away
But I swear I can hear the first dew drops dissapear
This isn’t the first night that I walk like this
And there are countless more to come
I feel the stories that I’ve been told mumbling up my lips
A poem about my identity rise up inside of me
I wave it off with a tougth of a wonderful office and cute notebook and sharp pencil to write it in
The soul of my ancestors dance in my mind
Sing a song in my spirit
My hoody keeps the cold wind outside
And gets me closer to comfort
The music in my head sighs under the sound in my ear
Leaving the word of the recording artist somewhere in my heals
In the steps I take into taking over the night
Streetlights in my back cast me further into the dark
Barking dogs hold my hand on my bag
My breath peaks over my lungs and escapes my lips or nostrils now and then
The shadows of the palmtrees and the contoures of my nest drive me to relief
The door creaks as I step inside
The dark is still out there
My heart leaps at the sight of comfort:
A sofa, pencil and cuaderno waiting for my rusttled excitement and the threads of my ancestors, the storytellers that dance in my veins

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