Won’t you celebrate with me?
This ethereal being that has awoken
As the blood from my fingertips flow outward into craft
And the callouses build on my feet
They laugh at the moon shine on my base.
As the cellophane lines lengthen into branching rivers
and divulges from the darkening mountain that holds my crown high
I cried for you.
They’ve belittled the tree branches as the grew over hills and valleys
And turns plains into inconvenient bumps.
You glower down at me, disappointment fills the hazel moonbeams
Instead i see dark brown of bearings on different bodies.
It grows and grows and wants to be filled but it never stays full
Always half empty
Never half full
The hole stares at me and grins crooked and wide tooth.
The hole whispers…
“What did I see to be except myself”