You who I know so well

Sometimes I don’t know how to talk to you.

My oldest friend and my harshest critic,

What is the destination of our travels inwards?

Circling rounds and rounds,

Watching the same kaleidoscope of thoughts.

The view gets me dizzy.

Eclectic essence of your playfully dramatic self.

Did I just pretend I accepted you?

Am I safe inside of this skin?

Transformation reads slowly

With pages stained by anxiety.

Experience is just a memory

Of many things.

I have taken long walks asking myself,

Are we aligned?

In our never-ending conversations

Notes hang in the air

Making it all a partial resolution.

Wrap it up with imperfect cadence

There is always a room to continue.