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cher-tru Aug 2018
People are different.
I learned about shapes this way.

I am an undefined figure
with undefined dimensions
existing in a world where triangles are three sided,
and rectangles four.

But I’m not out of place
the way laundry accumulates on floors
instead of tucked away in drawers,
     for at least laundry has an impending destination.

I’m out of place because I don’t know where I should be,
this galaxy or the next...
... Because when I reflect on the web of life,-- from the stars that circle far above my head
      to the flowers that waver in whispering wind
           to songs that carry from beating hearts,

I am made aware the notion that by a thin thread is everything interconnected...
I feel entitled to the foundation to which my feet are grounded,
      still my spirit desires to be free.
She seeks to fly above me, boundless.

But I ground myself to this Earth,
     for only when hands are buried underneath soil
          can Mother Nature’s roots be reached.

Yet, even when tightly seized
her fine grains
of sand still slip
through the cracks
of trembling hands.

These hands cannot be mine,
     for they remind me that I am not impenetrable.
That I’m soft on the inside.
That even the thick skin I wear as a shell cannot protect me.
But even humans must learn to grow out of their shells.
And as I molt,
I am reminded that I must pave my own path
     as I look to redefine truth
       as I seek to find answers
         as I strive to understand Self
Like a Phoenix rising from ash...
...Ash that has yet to settle

Until then, I am without exoskeleton.
Exposed to the elements,
the wind lashes at me relentlessly,
but the flame in my heart chases away the cold,
keeping me alive so I can tell the tale of how the fool in rags
      lived to wield the golden scepter and
      wear the diamond embroidered crown...

...My own internal revolution,--
/I rear with bare hands.
These are my hands.
One intro to philosophy course later...
572 · Aug 2018
A fool's moon
cher-tru Aug 2018
The song of the cicadas
in the overgrown,
dying grass
surrounded me.

Concocting a potion
that temporarily cured
my sickness
and numbed
my burning scratches
and bruises

For it was the medicine
of moonbeam and music
that began my healing.

— The End —