Lilting upward,
and frozen by sight,
a prophet stumbles.

The trees hang low,
breaking their spines
to turn over,
and the road ahead
pulls his inflection
to sink lower.

The waves are always shaking;
bending and breaking, but trembling.

Baobab

Constantly and cyclically erupting and sinking back into a veil of fog.  I feel like I'm way too old already.

I don't push myself to connect with people, but I always seem to be put into the position of absorbing them and understanding them in their own nuances.  I still have trouble expressing myself honestly because I instantly think it won't be understood, so I dance around the words or make something up completely different, as an avoidance mechanism.  A lot of things end up becoming avoidance mechanisms.

And when I reach those breaking points, the veil clears and I can see something different in myself.  Even when you're thousands of years old, you still have growing to do.  And it's no longer a question of ego or being accepted; of finding your place or surviving.  I feel like I can reach closer to myself.  But there's still a lot of distance to go.