To Who I Am

My tectonic plates are shifting

My tectonic plates
Are shifting.
Grinding beneath my feet
All the heaving piles of stress adding, how could it not rotate as so?
I try with a placid attempt to reign in my tempests.
Yet the tectonic plates cannot be placated.
They clench in familiar holds, make homes in the caves they reach out for.
Finding mountains to uplift and shores that must recede.
My tectonic plates are shifting.
Revealing changes I do not notice taking place.
I look down to observe my remains.
Checking all my boundaries.
Thinking for sure I stamped the ground hard enough to keep the movement at bay.
But the plates only churn as though wanting to become the magma kissing their heels.
The tatters of ground making it more obvious--
How a shrinking echo on a quiet hill becomes my one self.
Do you not understand?
I cannot feel complete
When so undone.
Not as my tectonic plates move faster than bubbles are forced to resurface.
They have found innumerable ways to trip me in the unfurling cracks,
Taking a strong hold.
A liking to my landscapes.
And just as normal tectonic plates shake soldiers boots loose from their grip on the field,
Mine only heave.
A gloated sigh escaping what all the uprooted mountains would call defeat.
All the sloping hills call remorse.
My lands are trembling
My geography remaking.
I am being mapped yet again and again.
Like a topographic drawing with its lines inverted.
I do not know where I stand
On a field of wobbly plates.
Both rough and smooth
By weathered whipping of air.
I am only a pawn on here,
Baited to a test of who will knock down whom.
On an uneven lawn of chess.
Only the queen has enough might to hold down her thrown
And pawns will spiral down to meet fates of the crevices below.
So I hold before me an object.
No,
A hand.
Held in its mightiest form.
A fist bottling up all the raw emotion it could convey on a victims face.
My tectonic plates are shifting just as the wind convects among the trees.
I won't be the same this time.
For tectonic plates decide
what stays and goes
what appears and what remains unseen.
Mine operate quite distinctly.
I cannot say what repentance lingers.
But I can feel my tempests now tempted.
Weighty and burdened from storm clouds seen not in my irises
but more in the person I am becoming.
My tectonic plates are shifting
I cannot let them any longer.

-s.l
----
Any comments?
What does this mean to you?
Thanks followers ❤️!