Scorched earth, no sun to be seen.

My neck hurts,

Always looking down

For bumps in the road

(Whether they are there or not.)

-

She stumbles, stumbles, stumbles

Because there is so much to see,

And none of it is at her feet

And I am still looking

And I can’t tell

If it is holding me back,

Coaxing me to take root,

Or if there is any difference

Full of wilting flowers,

And I am gladly one of them.

Press and preserve me

In your favorite book,

And smell sunlight

When you turn the pages.