The Flask
why must poems rhyme?
this is a poem, after all.
I can decide exactly what I do with it.
I am not writing an epic, like the great Odysseus and his men
I am nothing like Shakespeare.
I never wrote whole worlds with my words.
but I am trying.
I am trying to create the worlds inside my head in a way that makes sense.
i am trying, no matter how hard they say it is.
you're probably thinking "wow, this is the worst poem I've ever read"
I can say one thing to that: I don't give a single shit
the colors in my head in a jar, on paper, in words.
the swirls
the spirals
the waves
the zigzags
the downward plunges
the upward flights
the staircases
the mist
the darkness
the light
the fire
the water
the essence that fills my flask.
I drink it in, feel it course through my veins.
I write, and write, and write
I make something wonderful.
something just for me.
I don't care if nobody sees this.
this is for me, after all.
for me, and the people who relate.
the people, my people, our people.
people, people, people.
they surround us, overwhelm us.
they are us.
millions of millions of us.
8 Billion of us,living on this tiny blue marble.
this poem is to remind us that we are part of something greater
that we should all live, for the hope of discovery, of writing worlds.
to tell the people who are struggling to pull through instead of cutting the string and ending it all.
