it was supposed to only be physical
the six feet that keep us apart
the practiced response, so typical
of them to forget the heart
beating behind the chart
after a year of masking fears,
i’m almost free. free to leave
the covered faces that bring tears
to jailors that believe, weave
fantasies i’m forced to live
paper maché walls fade as i ran
away from who they want to see
take a breath, it’s almost done.
all i have to do is pay the fee
and i’m free to be me. finally
packing my life in boxes
never understanding the paradox
of missing what i’ve grown to hate
now that i’m forced to self-isolate
with the person that almost killed me.
even after it disappeared
nothing could lift our fears
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