CCW Finalist, Poetry My fingers clutch onto the dream like a rock climber on a cliff. Every muscle in my body remains stiff. And the irony is this. That we force ourselves to become stronger, without realizing that the harder an object is; the easier it is to break. Glass can be shattered. Cars can crash. Wood can be broken. Bones can be cracked. But water keeps flowing. You cannot break it. You cannot destroy it. Even when you set it on fire, water escapes into the air. And if you try to turn water into ice; all of a sudden, it becomes breakable. So if I have to pick between a hard ego, and a soft heart.... A cautious approach, or open arms... If I have to fear a stranger, instead of trying to heal his anger… Then l only put myself in harm. Because that means that I've become hard. And what's hard can break. So instead I stay soft, because what's soft can create. Turn your pride off. Stop chasing rainbows to find the pot of gold. You'll miss the entire view. You're trying to find beauty, that's already inside of you. So place your thoughts on a boat and let your passion be the river. Your mind is the drawbridge. Now open it. That's the only way for these thoughts to pass. If the bridge doesn't open, then the boat is going to crash. And the fire will destroy the boat, and your potential will be killed. And we might not ever have enough time to rebuild. And the sun might dry the river out. Take all the water, and hold it within a cloud. And then your tears will be the only thing you have left. To remind you of raindrops. And you can lose it if the pain stops. So you never actually cut your vein deep enough. You just allow the razor blades to tap dance on your flesh. Sending sharp vibrations into the ground, creating an earthquake down your wrist in your attempt to create new lifelines into your palms. You hold your own hand to remind you of human touch. You hug your pillow, hoping that it can magically turn into someone you love. You live your life trying to find someone who relates. Appreciates. Re-creates. But your life isn't a waste. If it was up to me, I would leave this body and turn back into energy. Then jump through your body, and heal you like it was destiny. My soul would play leap-frog on your chakras. Filling them up with more light than the sun. But that's not what you really want. Instead, you dance in your ungrateful depression like it was the prom night of your sadness. An entire day without smiling? Now that is just madness. If the universe had no beginning and can’t have an ending, then that means that we’ve always been here and always will be. So as life kicks you down, you make yourself hard. So hard that you eventually stop feeling the pain. But soft things can bend and adapt, while hard things are too easy to break. Apollo Poetry |