I knew I was lost when I got lost.
I got lost when I feared. (I feared when I heard.)
I felt afraid, then I lost. (Tenuous, uncertain of course.)
I feared me, who I was and had been.
I wasn’t nice, but I was.
I was a jerk, but I wasn’t.
I was scared, and I cared.
I moved through the world a bit blunt.
Here I was, wherever I was, it was where I had meant to be.
Who had I come to be?
Two and one didn’t make three, just Two and one.
Then Two left, leaving none and just me.
There was enough room, so I brought baggage.
Then left it where it didn’t belong.
When two left just me, I found it waiting for me that long.
I got roasted. And Toasted. I never roosted.
(Then again, I never do.)
I had roasted and toasted others where they roosted.
I had roasted the roost when I’d had room.
Baggage can hold neither roast nor toast.
(They take up too much of the roost.)
I had got there with baggage I didn’t own.
The same that I’d tried to disown.
It wasn’t lost: it was found. It found me. Or I it.
It was only lost because I was. (And I had.)
First, I didn’t s[S]e[SE]e[EE] it. (I did not want to.)
I tried to make it lost: it would not go.
It found me and stayed. (As baggage does, of course.)
Bionic woman: being on a boat meant no neighbours to be bothered by the loud and incessantly repeating plays of a song that constantly brought out my tears.
As true when I wrote this as the first time.