somewhere only we know
where are your lines
you have drawn defining your self?
do they wisp out of the centre of you
or are they unwavering?
like an old oak
rooted in the most fertile of soil.
are they etched into your crevasses?
or are they weaving whispers
blown by the wind?
are they invisible?
like a magician wings, but there
and obedient to the mystery of you.
do they form frowns in your dreams?
are they chained unto you
from realising yourself?
or are they a mycelium of may bes?
drawn shut on the show
that is your life.
where are your lines?
your rough edges?
your mysteries?
just come home sweet you
stand defined in you
by you.
be you til full.