Lying to my Mind
Updated: Dec 4, 2021

still
while acorns & oak leaves relented to gravity,
as did my will.
I studied the same pages
expecting changes
none but seasons
came.
In stages,
my fronds unfurled—
the uncoiling hurt.
Inert
from a stagnant mound,
a security of being
rooted, unfound,
polluting my purpose.
Seedlings suffocated upon braving the surface.
Winds bent backwards to navigate the tides;
I cried,
and dutifully lied
to my mind.
As light
desiccated
the muck and memoirs
poisoning my might,
I surrendered to the sun.
I chose to write.