Just ASCII n g

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Just ASCII n g

Would these paragraphs seem so beautiful as the waves of grass ? If they were not growing backwards into your brain as thoughts about why you cannot possibly feel the rush of them brushing against your fingertips ? Are the flowers along your street question marks bundled about in a depression ad commercial ?

Is the Fibonacci sequence a number of ways you spiral around yourself, so you can fall asleep, or are they the matching symmetries of buds of a flower growing outward ? As you wish to throw down at your feet, as you wonder why your face cannot be even on both sides, and even if you realize the amalgamation of these thoughts don’t equal a beautiful picture on the outside... 

you still hope...

one day,

You will grow outward as life does, perfectly. That those beautiful streams of thoughts, waving in the wind, will crash along your brain with feeling. That they will wrap around this pain, protect you from it, and they can be painted as a series of algorithims to create the beautiful picture of the life you always wanted.

 

Then

things change

and you don't know

where you are.

Did the weeds grow backwards into your brain ?

Did the question marks entangle you ?

Did you feel the pain wrap around you and squeeze ?

I know it did for me

As I walked a long my street 

Drifting in

and drifting out

Wandering in a sea of meaning

and non-meaning

Adrift...

Splicing and decimating

Reducing to one-tenth

Hardly hanging on at all

So focused on meaning

and re-meaning

and re-reading

That I began to wonder if the perfect picture matters at all.

 

So I give in and walk forward.

 

I stop and reach down to touch the grass in the field of questions.

They interrogate me.

And in a moment, they will reach up and entangle me.

 

I face them and reach my hand down to let it all go

The earth opens up and the vines slither up my spine

They embrace me and pull me down

I am planted right where I am, where I belong.

 

I may rise as an ugly flower

But soon...

I will be a beautiful weed.


Submitted: September 13, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Roxanne B.. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Criss Sole

You really have a way with words. I have had moments like this..."Drifting in/ and drifting out."
This one really spoke to me. I especially loved the line, "Did the weeds grow backwards into your brain."
Excellent poem!

Tue, October 13th, 2020 3:39pm

Author
Reply

Aw, thank you so much! I'm so happy this spoke to you and it's so good to hear your feedback. You always have really insightful things to say. Thank you so much again, I really appreciate your kind words :D

Tue, October 20th, 2020 7:10pm

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