hearty

you said that i like my scars too much,
i don't disagree,
the granulated face of solitary motion,
is one that i bear with no excuses,
i am not afraid of the white noise,
nor the silence that falls at the bottom of every exhalation,
there is a faded view of the mountain i've been trying to climb,
and i am not ashamed to say,
that i am no where near the summit,
there are days that i might dawdle in my worriness,
when i spindle and fashion words into sometimes desolate landscapes,
when titles like loner and hermit don't seem like too much of a stretch,
while at times i have intentionally walked parallel with the dark,
making effort to hide my features,
all the while,
reading and re-reading the maps,
adding my own roads,
and taking off into the tailwind,
in attempts to learn whatever i can fill my mind-bucket with