there is an atypicality growing in me,
and it is something i know i cannot nurture.
i do not know how much water, how much sun,
how much love this kind of thing needs
to survive.
it does not mimic a plant, or even something
i could rip from the earth.
it is purely born from the things inside of me,
and the things i am made of.
but to give it a name will confirm my attachment,
and when the time comes to let it go,
i will refuse.
so the atypicality will go on nameless inside,
draining me of my water, sun, and love,
teaching me that what is enough to others
can be enough to me.
r.k.
YOU ARE READING
and the universe held my hand.
PoetryIt said softly into the open vicinity, "Let go of their hands; don't let go of mine." poetry and prose volume iv 2020-2021
