Graphite under my nails,
smudges over my hands.
I’ve been sculpting with pencil
all to help understand
myself, and what my yellow-brick-road
is leading to, further than I can see,
it’s so far off that if I get there,
will I even be me?
Tag: sculpt
Nice Trip
I’ve been known to trip on air.
And not merely stumble,
but fall headfirst into
a tree, lamppost, grass, concrete.
Some times are more painful than others.
People tell me it’s lack of attention,
that my head
is so far in the clouds
I can’t see what’s right in front of me.
But I promise you,
it’s just air.
How can I avoid air?
Now don’t be silly, even if
I hold my breath,
it’ll still be around me.
My theory is a little different.
I think I get drunk
on the vibrancy in my head
and the earth gets jealous.
It believes it can never
live up
to such standards,
and so seeks to jog them
from my mind.
What it forgets
is that in order to think
such wonderful, impossible things,
I must first learn to appreciate
the real, the possible.
Otherwise, there is no foundation
for me to then sculpt with.
Opening credits
Pretending it’s okay
not to be cast
as the main character,
to always be left behind
while others race to the moon
and bathe in its shimmering
light.
That’s you all over.
I’ve watched you
calmly accepting
year after year
day after day
hour after hour
that you’re second best.
I can’t hold back any longer.
I reach for the mirror,
grasping it firmly,
and force you to look
into it.
You do.
Your eyes meet mine.
You realise that you don’t want
to
race
to the moon, anyway.
You strap rockets to your feet
and fly
instead,
capturing its light
in your hands
to sculpt
the moon’s tears
one by one,
each different to the last.
People pick them up where they land,
marveling at their uniqueness.
Finally, you’re proud
of who you are.
Finally, I’m proud
of who I am.
Treeshallow Musings 