the quiet ones though,
not the loud ones with berets and easels in hand,
just so "coincidentally" having fingerless gloves and a joint in their pocket.
it's an unspoken,
concealed,
tip-off.
chipped nail polish,
a bag of stolen jewelry and headbands,
bland t-shirts,
and silence during social situations.
i've forgotten to be with myself recently.
i've spent too much time riding around in cars,
settling on couches,
and watching movies that i never wanted to see in the first place.
why do i give away the moments of silence in bed
looking out the window?
why do i so easily forgo completing a dream
in place of remaining in the comfort of what i know?
ask yourself this.
when did i become afraid to live?
