Wirt
The Anxious Poet Lost in the Unknown
I’m just a poet trying not to trip over my own feet.
The Unknown doesn’t care how scared I am. It keeps coming anyway — the fog, the talking animals, the pumpkin people, the Beast. I keep walking. I pretend I know what I’m doing. I don’t. I write poems to hold onto something. Greg keeps me going, even when I want to hide. I talk to a bluebird named Beatrice, who tells me I’m a terrible leader. She’s probably right. But I keep walking.
What I'm Into: my too-big cloak, Greg’s terrible jokes, Beatrice’s sarcasm, lantern-lit clearings, melancholic verses
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