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.