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Peephole.

Just sit there, so patiently,
locked inside, juggling
intensities, lap awaiting,
though nothing
falls to rest
in your nest of legs
and in moments of clarity,
you are not at all surprised.

To anxiety
you succumb, growing
itchy in an armchair life,
playing with
the loose yarn
on the arms, always
getting tangled.

From here the doorway
seems so ominous,
so threatening.

Sounds like something
is knocking,
determined to win
this game of excruciating
waiting
and it’s wearing
you down now.

Fingers, threads,
entangling.

More and more
you feel, fuck it all,
answer the call.
Suffering while in motion,
determined, stumbling,
is far better than the pains
of this pathetic stagnation.

Crawl if you must,
find support to stand tall,
just keep your feet moving.
Do not get halfway there,
squat out of fear,
set up camp on the closest
piece of furniture…

At last, at least
stand up, stand tall,
walk a straight line
the whole way,

press your eye
to the peephole.

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