PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I'm standing in my backyard of a box. Open oven door breeze in the air. The breeze was strong enough to lift a curl in my hair. Stifling sweat was something I learned to bare. It’s an everyday occurrence here and I’m beginning not to care, then I saw something that made me stop and take a moment to stare.

He moved quick and fast was about the size of a lighter. His needle nose was taking jabs at my tree like a Mike Tyson fighter. A cloud of birds emptied the tree when they saw him. Immediately impressed I fell in love, I was in awe with him.

I’m scared of birds.

I feel more comfortable with words.

I’m glad he turned away those messy little turds.

He went about his business, acting as if he found Christmas. His impulsive joy made me envious, and think what is this? He had small paperclip wings that moved so fast, at times I couldn’t tell which way he went past. He picked at my tree hovering around like a hive to a bee. Of course he found nothing and decided to flee. He had the right because he was free…

A cloud revealed the source of the heat light. I wanted to leave as fast as he, but I can’t even afford a flight. A flight to take me out of this box where for fun kids kick rocks and there are no seaside docks just ticks and tocks and financial locks.

I’m stuck in a strange stage…some kind of rut. Enclosed in a 4x 4 hut. There is one window and one door. You can feel the outside vibrations. Inside my head I question my sense of self and all my contemplations.

I have seen people leave this box where for fun kids kick rocks and there are no seaside docks. They move to a colder place where sweat rarely visits their face. Where everything happens at an upbeat pace. Where they do the things they love with no shame just grace. Where they are in the run for first place!

I WANT TO BE IN THAT RACE!

Then beads of sweat pee on my frown and my mind slows down.

I begin to think…

I realize though the grass may be greener on the other side...perhaps these people lied.

I know they too are in their own kind of box where there may be seaside docks and perhaps unpleasant talks. Some kind of frozen ice box. Then I remember his paperclip wings and the appreciation he brings when you think about these things.

Things in a box where for fun kids kick rocks and there are no seaside docks just the minutes of the clock that continue to mock…my frustration. I want to rid this sensation. I want to ask the clock when’s my time? MY time to leave the box.