Feet on the grass

My coat is hanging in the solitary locker
And misses my action and sweat.
My purple gloves lie lifeless
In a forgotten bin.
I left my exoskeleton and can now freely walk
On the dewy grass.

Liberation

I drop weight,
I drop a baggage full of past
With a rancid taste.
Walking slowly I can pick flowers
for a hopeful basket.

Empty drawer

What makes you great
might have a dark face
And a spicy story to tell.
All proud speakers
Hide an actor and a drawer of doubts.
My drawer will be emptied soon
Hiding words, arms and paper
And my shoulders will rise
Free to move and energetic like a bird in spring.

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