Looks are deceiving and thoughts are knotty just like nerves

There’s a man who helps me. He straightens my legs and kisses my forehead. 

He hums strange sounds and I giggle but he has powers. 

When he touches my knees I feel a cross upon my back and vitality flood my darkened bottom-half. 

In my childish moments I pretend I am a mermaid and then I awaken to the dangers of sirens. 

I adeptly filet myself and walk on.

Motion without feeling is not like walking on a cloud. It’s with the rigidity and clumsiness of a prototypical trinket. 

Each Step heavy and stern pangs like all too much base with a chorus of dinkling triangles.

Utter discord-

But this man tunes me up. He is a fixer- more than that he is a friend.

What is so special about knees?-I’ve heard they are the bridges to heaven.

While I take individual advice with a grain of salt, I have been well seasoned by practitioners of science, art, and faith who warn me of my weakness as if I am in peril. 

I feel the sharpness of the line I walk and the jostling of plates I carry - to serve others a hot meal. Thankfully, I am not tempted by delight and my palms are heat resistant.

There is a weightlessness to it all

But where there’s smoke there's fire, and I smell the fall creeping upon the horizon.