When I felt
the stuck of you,
I knew you needed
to move.
The mud in the air around you
as you tap
tap
tapped away
told the story of a stuck girl.
Getting the job done,
wishing you were anywhere else
but there.
I supposed
you must have spent days,
weeks,
months or years,
longing to flow
like the river you were born to be.
But instead,
you’ve been there.
In a state that outgrew you
long ago.
I wish I could tell you:
it’s okay to move.
