Many of us are
blind to the needs of others,
so consumed in our own ideals,
our own ideas,
our ideations.
We assume every space
should belong to us.
Should be safe for us.
We come to believe
that our beliefs,
our opinions,
our views,
are an irreplaceable part
of our identity.
We become clams
and hermit crabs
wearing shells
that do not fit
because we believe
they will let us into safe spaces
while burying our thoughts
and parts of ourselves
in the sand,
forgotten
or washed away by
the tides of conformity.
Then
we demand
that others
do the same.
In a strange way
the right to a safe space
has become
something to be earned.
We envy
those who fit
into these spaces
like they were born there
without realizing they
might have morphed to fit
just as we have.
We shed
parts of ourselves
like burdens
to skate on the thin ice we call
a safe haven
in an attempt to escape
our suffering.
We scrub ourselves clean of
perceived imperfections
until raw skin
bleeds us dry as a desert
husks
of who we used to be
in an effort to fit
into a space that claims
to be safe
and accepting.
But how safe
is a space
if we must hide
who we are
within it?
We are all
celestial bodies
in the night sky,
each unique.
Some of us are stars
shining as bright guides
for those who are lost.
Some of us are moons
filled with craters
from damage that only
makes us more beautiful.
Some of us are planets
pulling at others
with our gravity.
Yet we are all equal.
We are all wonderful.
And together
we all share
space,
the vast expanse of the universe.
Perhaps,
I may suggest,
we don't need
a single space
that is safe for everyone.
A polar bear
is not safe
in the same space
as a hyena.
A dolphin
is not safe
in the same space
as a dove.
But they can all be safe
in their different spaces.
Yet all these spaces
are part
of the larger space
of the earth,
each shifting climate creating
spaces
of all different kinds,
all interconnected
and part of a whole.
So,
take a deep breath,
remove your hollow shell,
find the precious pieces
you cast away
into the sea,
and learn to love
every part
that makes you whole.
Carve out a space
no matter how small
where you
can be safe
and help others
find or forge
their own space
where they
can do the same.
YOU ARE READING
I Hate to Rain on Your Parade But I'm a Cloud That's My Job (Poetry Chapbook)
PoetryA collection of poems that don't really follow a theme at all. Some might be sad, some might be happy, some might be inspiring, some might be funny, most of them are entirely subjective. Some are very short, there are several haiku, but groups of th...
