20 April 2013
April 20 : Invincible
I am invincible
as long as I'm alive.
And those words are beautiful enough
to almost put an agonized mind to rest.
Because they are hopeful, they are crazy,
and they are infinitely true.
Who says you can't fly?
In the right moment
(Off the high-rise building, not yet
a bloody heap on the concrete tiles)
You are a bird. You are.
Afloat on the fluttering edges
of the wind, of the sky,
of a hundred quiet butterflies.
And cynicism seeps into the
crevices of a happy mind
(slowly, steadily, but surely)
an addictive drug and such a poison
to the mind of a self-proclaimed idealist.
Cynicism seeps into the well-meaning smiles
and the helping hands, every honest word
and the crazy, endlessly inconsistent world.
Wrapped up tightly in layers of
(judgmental, precocious) myself
I will never grow.
But who can afford to shed
one's shell when it's all we're sure of
(defenses built up
over days and months
decisive sub-conscious decisions
and angry tears),
who can be open to the world,
and all it will hand out,
And in my head
I will walk in forests and mountains
at midnight, I will swim naked
with the moon. In my head
I will drive to nowhere
and live there for a while.
Try new food. Love a lot.
Talk to strangers on buses,
decide on obsessive future crushes.
Call old lovers and kiss them smilingly,
Take new friends on ridiculous road trips.
Be unafraid and loud and
crazily, wildly, wonderfully happy
and sometimes sad, very sad.
But in reality,
I will be quiet. I will sleep a lot.
I will eat from menus decided years ago,
and never do anything new to my hair.
I will read in front of my bonfire
with Maya, my cat. Never travel
by public transport. Never learn
how to drive. Shy away from strangers
and hide away from friends. Be proud of
the same things I did ten years ago.
And I will be content, and satisfied
and I will be happy, and I will be sad
But I will survive. I will smile occasionally
at myself in the mirror, thinking
'I'm not doing so bad'.
And in my incapacitating fear,
in my cowardice,
I will be a sort of invincible.
Inside I will be vulnerable
(but my sleeves will be long
and my heart locked up
somewhere deep inside)
but outside, I will be
protected, I will be wise.
Well, I'll be invincible
(admittedly, a dull sort).
Labels: national poetry writing month