Still
Flowers are grounded,
but still lurch and vibrate
in the June air.
Not this flower I saw.
Stillness is next to Godliness.
Still I kill with kindness.
I am not silent, part of being still.
I was still until
I crowed in the crowd.
I screamed, “I am not meant to be here.”
My roommates in my flowerbed
don’t want feet.
They don’t want to be completely free.
The people want me to burst
like a balloon filled with confetti.
It’s kind of the whole point
of the balloon being at this party.
All flowers are like balloons,
in the nature of bursting.
In the word BURST
there is a B and a U.
So be you, otherwise you’ll burst.
Death will come for your soul.
It comes for everybody,
but it will be after you
more than usual.
It’s part of stillness.
Not firing when
you can fight movement.
Sorry, I couldn’t stay still
and I hate your stupid book.
It’s the best thing I’ve yet read.
The pressure reads me like a comic,
casually.
We are in His image,
but we are not meant to be God.
So flow, my flow-ers.
Lead your life.
Grounded,
pressed in a book,
wind taken,
still,
bursting.
Your path is yours alone.
Be you.