The globe is different now
cast out of a mould that not even time itself knows.
It's deformed and its laws are strange now
requiring you to explosively de-shell yourself
and adapt to the chaos around you
Your Mind is different.
Its perspective has inelegantly shifted
forcing you to ballet into the mud
looking back onto the parquet
as you realize, the shape you are in
does not fit the mould you came from.
Not round, not square, not rectangular.
So you do what you do,
and try angles.
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Curve balled. You throw one last look
back into the mirror
and you watch your intimate exterior.
You realise, your inside perspective
is perceiving its outside perspective
and now more so than ever
you have to listen
with your outside ears
to others inside voices.
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I always had an easy time making friends.
It was light,
rolling
cruisy.
Like a revolving chair,
spinning into a new classroom on the first day of school.
Just walk into a classroom,
skate park or arcade.
Someone would usually take notice
YOU ARE READING
My Life, A Canvas.
PoetryForeword This poem is about adapting to change, adjusting alterations, remodeling redesigns, reshaping modifications, and about recognizing reorientation. Over the last few decades, we've experienced peak globalisation. Unfettered global trade a...
