Deceit

my heart moves so slowly,
but my body races deceitfully,
balling it’s fists and snapping into action,
muscles made of memories,
reminders that slow is unacceptable,
that elephants should be ignored,
that depth should be shallow
and easily treadable

except it’s not easy for me –
I always lose my footing,
my muscles exhaust in triviality,
as the gap between what is real
and what is expected widens,
engulfing pieces of me in the wake of the deceit

this deceit –
I have held onto it,
but it’s not mine to keep

-artwork via Pinterest, by Charlie Bowater

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