Thoughts Have Hands

I am who I will be

A challenge to the wind

A lonely rock shaped by chaos 

Sinking in the deep.

I am mass and energy swirling in space 

A universal plea defying time

I am protons and neutrons knotted by gravity,

I am an electron moving too fast to

Explain my identity. 

I am resistant to change 

I am persistent playing my entangled game 

I am inconsistent seeking what’s new.

I am emptiness seeking connection

I am striving for validation 

Unsure of the name I was given 

I am a merchant of half-baked dreams

Selling success to all who listen.

I am wadded up paper,

Thrown to the floor,

Discarded thoughts,

Left on their own to slowly unfold

I am spread out, frayed at the edges. 

I am often illegible, not exotic, a common script longing to be deciphered.

I am narratives torn from my drama,

A performer, seeking direction.

I am a half written script 

With endings doubtfully imagined, wanting rewrites or a bigger part.

I am an offender uncomfortable with redemption 

I am my own mystery thriller full of apprehensions,

a master at deception, tempting fate,

A juggler with arthritic hands, 

Posing for a smidgen of human attention,

An actor in pursuit of a standing ovation. 

I am a poet scrawling words on scrap paper to catch artistic inclinations

I am a seeker of rhymes with aging balance.

I am unskilled labor pining for work. 

I am innocence grown old and romantic.

I am digging at my hidden roots.

I am wistful of branches too high to reach.

I am a leaf yellowing on the tree.

I swing with summer breeze

I am turning golden soon to float free.

I am bold but full of aging wisdom.

I am disordered entropy.

My consciousness sails west to meet sunset.

I remain an incomplete mess as winds blow me along to an unknown home.

I am grounded looking at sky, feeling the earth under my toes.

Through looming branches,

I reconstruct trips aimed at the sky 

I am desire attached to memories I want to last.

I am a brittle leaf curled up in hope. 

Love will warm me in the sun.

I am winter snow

Taking the shape underneath 

I am molded by gloved hands 

into fragile art, 

A singular eye catcher, 

Left in sunlight to water the earth.

I am open space dancing with time 

I am a temporary, too fallible to understand

I am who I am. 

THH

2/26/25

This entry was posted on February 27, 2025 at 12:46 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.