at the tip of my tongue
the force behind them so great
they could level a forest of giant oaks
but an even greater force holds them in
a gatekeeper whose iron
keeps even the strongest of poets at bay
the words swirl in my head
creating a storm of harsh thunder and lightning
thrashing and crashing against an invisible barrier
breaking it down
but though the words may make sense on paper
they flow harsh like the river
cutting and weaving through land
but also the transporter of all things necessary
love at long last
has broken free
I am me.
You are you.
But she is her
and he is him.
The word weighs down on those around it.
Crushing every ounce of their individuality
until it has been replaced by a new word:
Fear of being different.
Fear of failure.
Fear of being looked down upon.
A young girl sits in the back of the room.
Ahead of her are girls who have been molded into one:
A boy sits at the park
and watches as every other boy his age is asked to play basketball.
He looks at his cheap white sneakers and knows he’s an outcast.
He has not conformed
but he wants to.
Be. An. Individual.
Be who you are.
Not the person the world wants you to be.
I am my own person
(mostly) unhindered by the world in which I live
a web of tangled strings tug at my heart
but never asking
this poison seeps through the vessels and veins in my body
in an attempt to affect and effect
the person I (have become) am
those who tell rather than ask are no longer their own person
their lives hindered by the world about them
crushed by a society that tries to same
into one unified person
don’t be afraid to ask
and don’t be afraid to be the person you were meant to be
the person you are
they show our deepest fears
even when we do everything we can to hide them
but with one look
an experienced eye can feel our fear
like the girl sitting alone on a dingy bus
the girl who refuses to make eye contact
with those trying to help
they show our happiness
the smallest glimmer giving it away
it can be seen with the quickest of glances
igniting the same feeling in others
like the couple you see holding hands on the beach
the soft sand and shimmering sun
only accentuating how they feel in that moment
they show our compassion
at the moments we choose to open our souls
so that others can see our depth
and a warmth gravitates to all that seek it
like the friend who never left your side
in a moment of weakness
and remains there to this day
they tell our stories
and the stories of those around us
yet we are afraid of exposing ourselves
we divert our attention away at the last moment
not willing to allow others across a barrier
a barrier that blocks the way to a piece of ourselves
we don’t want to share
but a piece of ourselves that is most important
they are powerful
because they hold our secrets out for the world to see
and no two persons are the same
itching at our core
waning our strength
like the second hand
ticking on a clock
fear of failure
fear of the unknown
fear of never being good enough
fear of growing old
or not growing old
fear of death
fear of being criticized
fear of proving people wrong
or of proving people right
fear of losing control
constantly surrounds us
swirling around us high above our heads
all the way to the ground
or the brightest shade of red
you’ve ever seen