I try the way

My hands and mind are filled with trail mix
Gold, grey, orange, black and occasional lime flecks; and mealworms dry, hollow and brown like my hair
My body is covered in lines and pores yet it doesn't always leak like the rain through my open window tares, no no-one can really hear my whole story and it seems to get more complicated anyway I glorify it but a story is a story told between people on their trails.
Sometimes I get mixed up, forget which parts have failed, hurt, loved, excited, stressed or angered the most.
I try the way my soul leads me and it feels right for certain allotments of time given to her host.
So I grasp the fences and climb the paths and so far I've always made it to the top, she treats me well always knows when it's time to stop, avoiding mountains I'm not ready for.
Places where I'm left too breathless for more; being, where glaciers might bite back for sure, and rocks fall too harshly, where sands burn the feet and the shadows talk back. Yes she plays safe and so so do I.
Who am I to question such innocence and pride; joy waiting to cross my path and fly.