Thursday, November 10, 2016

Poetry: The Shell

I'm drifting.
The wind blows and I rush along
In directions
I shouldn't claim as mine.

This path is so inconsistent
This lifestyle isn't me

I look in the mirror
And I can't recognize a thing.

Like a snake that shed its skin
I am the husk that is left

Watch me try to pretend to be a snake
Watch me get torn
Ripped
Broken
Fading

Plaster yourself up, I say.
Add some glue,
Some stones,
Some sticks

Fill yourself up with lies and mud
Pretend to still be a snake

Failing to do each task set before you
Your deceit just causes more ripping

Maybe it's time to retire.
Put the stones back in the pond,
The sticks at the base of the tree.

Stop letting yourself be weighed down
By things you're just pretending to be.

Then you'll fly free

I'll fly away as little old me
An empty husk forever to be.

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