by John Rodriguez
The shoes are stuck there as I stumble and
gather my thoughts, and I’m feeling around and
get a sense of the stares
as they pierce me unknowingly,
attempting to gather a glimpse
of who I am and how I have changed and am
not stretching
out of my clothes as their voices get
low and they reconsider
their love, trust, and even themselves, because
what they see planted
is not one who conforms or is stuck in a
little box
with roots nowhere to grow, and their head
pounds, throbs, and drills at their insides
and tests the very people they think they
are
as they now look at me and begin to
understand and let go of the old me and
see that I am
not the same individual.
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Photo Credit: Getty Images