I bend and contort;
roll into a compact ball
and fit between the cracks.
My shape can reposition
at any given moment
to slide in just comfortably enough.
Read between the lines
and find I'm not really
all that hard to figure out.
Lightweight and seemingly unfragile...
carry me across masses of land
and see if I break.
Capable to be transported
no matter the distance
or emotional damage.
Toss me from a plane
and watch as my body lies splayed on the ground
pieces all in place.
| I added this to my favorites. Because I enjoy it v. much. :-) I'm not sure if this is quite what you meant at all from it— and it's not necessarily what this poem meant to me, but it did remind me of something. How sometimes around different people, we act differently. And it was pointed out by a teacher this year... what happens when say, you have a surprise party, and all of those people are invited? Suddenly you don't know how to act; you're pulled in all these different directions. And I find that we often have to 'bend and contort' depending on our settings... some people more than others of course. |
The worst part is that sometimes, this is DEMANDED of us. And people don't care when we are tossed from that plane and lay on the ground in millions of little pieces.
Sigh. This is a problem.
|| Posted on 2007-06-17 00:00:00 | by LucyDiamond | [ Reply to This ] || There is an ironic note from the beginning to the end... or perhaps you are describing the qualities of an artist... as far as i've read your works earlier, i think and believe, you are versatile in a very good sense...|
this piece is a nice exposition of versatility, you have left nothing to add...but the dark irony can not be missed... directed against those people who expect rather too much...(for instance... the last lines)... or this may be my own interpretation.
This is beauty of the melancholy.
|| Posted on 2007-06-09 00:00:00 | by Parul garg | [ Reply to This ] |