This Is Awful
Destroyed.
No more place to just walk.
No more trees to catch my drifting thoughts in their fingers.
My thoughts cannot be caught in the streets;
Stop signs do not have fingers.
I can see nothing for miles.
I do not want to “stop”. I want to think.
People in the streets have places to be
And I have nowhere to go.
I am but a collection of burdens for other people
To want to ignore.
The conservancy, how she loved me.
I have no trees, only paper.
The paper comes from the trees
But the pain from the paper is its own.
If my legs hurt in the woods, I can sit on a bench
And my thoughts will be with the trees.
If my wrist hurts from the pencil, I cannot stop writing
Or my thoughts will be with me.
My thoughts tear at my skull; they desire a host.
The streets cannot fill the needs of my thoughts
And the streets prosper beyond the trees.
Humanity has conquered nature.
My mind is with the trees but my body is human.
I am stronger than my mind
And I am my mind’s protector.
My wrist will hurt but it is a sacrifice I must make.
Pain creates beauty.
Pain breeds creativity.