"Baby, we were born to run."
There’s this overromanticized idea about running away –
two hands cuffed together with hope, lacking anything else.
It’s not brave to abandon all that is familiar,
especially now, when our legs tire faster since we
stopped doing sports three years ago
and have grown to leave more behind.
Our satchel’s getting heavier each dawn because we keep
being built by dreamfilled sleeps
and we’re still fueled by the youthful, yet naïve,
faith in reaching our goals, despite their wise warnings
molded by eyes that roll “you won’t”.
And we still skinny-dip on the core of hurricanes,
relying on this dependency to remain sane
through the healing of your flavorless lips and the blood
that, one day, I’ll stop sucking from my fingertips.
There’s this overromanticized idea about running away
on a desperate attempt to negate regret, after our skin
reeks of burnt rubber from sleeping
shirtless on asphalt for so many lunar cycles
that we forget about our own body odor.
And when we’re too sandy and stained and dirty
and barely recognizable to each other,
since we’ve been on the run
long enough to lose ourselves,
we’ll fill our satchel with past
and dream of home.
Overromanticized. That's one hell of a word.
wow, I'll definitely write something big about this later on, these stanzas really spoke to me.
You hipster with your satchel. :p: Nice work, Andre. I reall enjoyed reading this. The theme is quite simple, yet charming and thoughtful. And the cycle is indeed true to life and unavoidable for many people.
I'd get rid of the commas that break up the sentences and flow. Or at least rearrange things a little so that they don't obstruct the pace so much. Much of it is fine, it's just a minor niggle I had.
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