I woke up today and read poetry. Tyler Knott Gregson. He speaks my soul’s language.

Summer is here. Not…where I want it to be, but it is here.
It is not in the beaches of one of the 10,000 lakes.
It is not in the leaves on the branches of the trees that root themselves near the great blue water of the Greatest Lake.
I am here. Stuck from the breeze that faintly smells of fresh water and lilac.
My park is concrete in its benches, polka dotted with green.
At once I feel like my shadow is lost.
The threads torn out roughly, and it kept our creativity in the fall out.
I wonder. What forces us to remake ourselves? How do we know where we belong?


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