Walking Poetry

Untitled Poet
2 min readJan 17, 2022
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Withering Home

In the beginning, it was only a small grapple, but I dismissed it into the back of my thoughts. I was still in the city, still at the park, still at home. Life was still normal. I didn’t feel lost, I was still there.

Life went on and I enjoyed it.

However at some point, the realization dribbled in into my life that somehow I wasn’t there anymore.

It didn’t make a lot of sense to me. I was still in the same place. I could see that nothing had changed in the world or around me. So why was I not there anymore?

Why couldn’t I feel or express myself anymore? I was lost. My thoughts were empty.

I couldn’t fixate on belonging anymore — yet I searched for a place where I could remain without withering, a place that I could call home.


Between the wind.

And the broken chants.

We’re unaware.

A spoken word.

A waiving smile.

A parting step.

We’re unaware.

Thanks for reading.


Untitled Poet.

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Untitled Poet

A.I. Student — Animal Rights Advocate | I write about philosophy, psychology, and technology.