Fault Lines
Location
60443
United States
41° 30' 33.3864" N, 87° 44' 48.5052" W
See map: Google Maps
There is a line between the mean and the attractive, and
One would ofttimes wonder how this goes.
Yet truly, it lies within the hem of each lonely girl’s skirt,
And in the hairline of the subject of her woe.
The subject is often seen wearing black faux leather,
It covers his shoulders and the safe that holds his heart;
Or she may be wearing her mother's polka-dot sweater,
Because if she wears plaid she will be told apart.
The first girl may be standing at a halt,
Between the two types, irrespective of gender.
For to reach one’s sugar center, one must lick salt,
Yet through layers of sweetness, the other’s taste will offend her.
There is a line between the mysterious and the alluring,
For the bars of mystery are sometimes treacherous.
Inside these bars, could lurk a vengeful madman,
Or instead, one who thinks goodbyes are generous.
In the same way, we could hike all the mountains on Earth,
Breathe into every crevice and crack,
But when our findings are hung and we measure their worth,
We may be heavy-hearted looking back.
For when we are guarded, we search life on our owns,
Our crevices are filled with mysteries, not all of which we’re aware;
Because after death, no one talks about the fragility in the cat’s bones,
Or the fact that despite its curiosity, it was scared.
There is a line between the fun and the dangerous,
Though perhaps as a teen, I have still not learned that yet.
Yet perhaps I have, because I’m writing this for us,
Or, perhaps, I haven’t... So this is the risk that I will let.
The girl from the start is on a tightrope, in arduous strife,
For what is mean is dangerous, and all attraction brings fun.
Though soon, her balance is lost, as she struggles for her life,
Pushed and pulled by the subjects, she falls, and is soon gone.
As we explore the world in search for answers, as well,
We may find a misstep costs us more than we account for.
The ice building on the Everest and a second-too-late yell,
And our new destinies may be the forest floor.
We could stalk the prisons of mystery everyday,
Or strive for adventures in armour clad;
We could hunt for those as intro-or-extroverted as we may,
And in the end still find no more than leather and plaid.
Yet we may also throw ourselves over the line,
We may fill all the crevices and cracks with grime.
We could even forget there are any faults at all,
And land on the balls of our paws when we fall.
And so we will be scared and mysterious and dangerous and fun,
For those are the things that the Earth has made us become.
We will be curious and alluring and extro-introverted;
For there are no fault lines.
But there is us,
And we are ever-present,
everywhere,
forever.