they say God shaped us out of clay,

His breath rippling through abandoned parking lots, empty churches,

only to strike a chord, ring a bell, sing a song

through our veins as we live recklessly like madmen.


there’s never a “can’t” or “won’t” when it comes to Creation,

just a reckless drive to craft, build, renew,

so we no longer need to face the destruction around us, the truth that

we can’t take a step forward without trampling over the things we care most about. 


I’ve lived too long as a reduced individual,

apologies spilling out of my lips for plates smashed in the kitchen,

misspoken words ricocheting like bullets off mirrors,

revealing shattered reflections of a person that wanted nothing more than to be nothing.


now, all I yearn for is something to fill the emptiness,

as I craft poetry out of blood, sweat, and tears,

as I build bonds, bridges, births of universes inside my head, 

as I renew my license to be young and free, chasing my dreams with a growing self-esteem.  


let me grit my teeth; let me dig my heels in;

let me fight the good fight, fall in love with love, kick the bucket across the time-space continuum

when I wildly revel in the Creation around me-- 

and one day, create life myself. 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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