There Is A Fly In My Room

A Poem

There is a fly in my room.
It doesn’t know it’s a fly.
It isn’t.
That’s just the name I’ve given him.
Or her.
It’s hard to tell.
It flies around like it’s looking for something.
Perhaps a way out.
Like us,
buzzing around all day trying to escape our own fears of what will happen if we don’t keep on buzzing.
Buzzing has its place.
But it doesn’t have to be constant.

– Adam Oakley

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