Tiny frogs bounce in my dreams.
They're slimy skin, their diminutive shapes.
How truly disgusting they seem to be.
Yet nothing else is bouncing...
Everything else is stuck in place, stagnant & clingy.
So are the frogs as terrible as they seem?
Tiny frogs bounce in my dreams.
They hoppity- hop-hop ever closer to me.
I repeal so quickly so much farther away.
My face struck in horror of what things may be.
Why the hell am I so scared of these tiny things?
What kind of man am I to be so afraid?
No man at all it would seem, I'd say.
Just a coward afraid of what things may be.
Tiny frogs bounce in my dreams.
They bounce here & there; everywhere in between.
They bounce in potential, in hope, & belief.
They demand I be what I'm afraid to be:
a tiny bouncing frog.
So free to bounce all over the place.
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