scattered myself over many realities
inklets of who i am are sprinkled around, and i realize isolation tells more compelling stories

the entirety of myself can only be told through a democracy of my spannings
for there to be only one place to express all, through pictures, texts, thoughts, ideas - is so communist

the framing and vessels we place droplets of ourselves, the difference and settings of them all feel just right
continue to scatter and sprinkle