I think that sounds like freedom.
Like some sweet attestment
To knowing the world
In founded in prayer of a greater strength and truth.
Dismal existence purveyed in wander + whimsy.

Childhood recollections like flower _ lantern lit lakes.
And I too dream once of understanding how I ended up Croatoan of all the generations of culture I traveled the world in.
Long before I thought America would ever truly accept me.
Kicked away and stranded and brought back on preservation-rights.

No one really wanted to house me or represent.
Now im’ international to galactic in accord.
But still homebased in Lejueance and New River.

Some type of entry of feeling like a little kid now that everyone is back in town.
And every sick little shit at the party complaining of the smell of beer is back too, because you’ve been sad and working on things.

I don’t like my life of loneliness.
The unaltered crumb.
In my blindness of trust,
And threat to enemy in constant sighs of “looks really busy everywhere I go, my trust is diminishing.”

Light the locks of virtue and let your hair down in-regs.
You earned it, Samantha.

Something bout it.
Might as well keep-on with the keeping-on.
I love a busy workschedule.
New ideas.

Just feels like maintenance after a while.