Copycat,
no originality,
no personality.
Stumbling with scraped knees
and broken views,
shoe tied together
and fraying at the seams.
You're chasing a marred perfection,
feeding on insults you weaved out of air,
you've got a bad case of wanderlust,
the personal kind,
with flighty thoughts,
and bon voyage opinions,
unsatisfied,
unready to settle,
unsure of who you are.
Uncomfortable in your own skin
(bc you never stopped long enough to see what it looks like).
Too busy wishing to see your wish has already been granted.
Why are you still running?
slow down,
please,
let go.
but no.
Stopping scares you,
and you left thinking behind,
so wanderlust woos you,
and you wander on.