Perspective: They Follow

There is someone in between love.

The one or few that follow.

They kind of get in the way.

When you walk, when you rest, when you eat, when you think.

The signal in color, in word, in sound, in touch.

It’s not in your intention to do it, but it’s done.

They’re will.

To step in and take what was meant for you.

For me.

The one or few that follow.

Your step, your move, your thought, you're consume.

It’s the company that make your being home.

But it was meant for me.

It’s not fair to sit and wait for you to see it.

To wait until you feel the leaching and pulling.

To feel the trauma and to open your eye.

Open your eyes.

Then what?

Will you tell the others to leave?

Will you still choose me?

They’re in the way.

When I send my love, do you even feel it anymore?

Do they catch right in front of you.

Is that why you’re so gone when you’re always right there?

Was it your choice to sit back while standing?

I can’t offer you anything that you can’t create for yourself.

Your sight is your own, your love is your own, your life is your own.

I wish you would choose to take back what is yours.

Not just for you…




Is it selfish?

To want you to be your own, so that then I can…

Is it inevitable.