I Am The Artist

A sturdy wind follows my feet, my posture and gaze reinforce that I am confident in who I am. A dollar and ninety-two cents to the man behind the glass; sugar and sorrow. Steady across the five, four if you do not waste away in the center abyss. A pace to be proud of, intention to nowhere; I am the artist. Hair out of place so that I am able to be found in place; comfort lingers. I wait for signs as I walk past stop signs. Speak louder if You’ve ever spoke to my Tennessee sky; wet roads reflect best.

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