my english class is amazing, since we were assigned the lovely task of coming up with symbols of ourselves. so i toiled for a few hours, trying to figure it out. but then looking out my window, it hit me.
nature fit.
nature is beautiful; just look at all the vibrant colors she lends your life (like i can, if you let me)
nature is a poet, like me - so many poems she's whispered through the soft winds manifest themselves as flower petals, with their softness and sweetness.
like me, a waterfall found in nature's got some soul to it - enough to keep going al the time, lending itself to tumble down and crash into the rocks below.
birds nestled in the trees and i share something in common - we were made for music. birds also have a gift i wish i had, the coveted gift of freedom represented by flight.
nature is intelligent, and quick to outsmart you - remember that picnic you planned on that nice sunny day? nature'll laugh in your face as she sends you buckets of rain and skies murky with clouds
nature's a hopeless romantic, and all the bright stars lacing the night sky are proof enough of her love for love.
nature is constantly under attack ; it feels like nobody's satisfied with her efforts, nothing she does is enough. "it's too hot! it's too cold! why are there so many weeds in my garden! i didn't mean fotr that to grow? why won't anything grow?" blah, blah blah.
nature is a passionate being. the blazing sun proves she's got attitude ; the moon and the cool nights that tag along with the moon remind you that she's got a soft side to her you'll see, if you stick around long enough.
nature's so complex, yet so simple ; she's an open book, but has an aura of mystery.
at times, she can be the most cold, desolate and melancholy person you've ever met, and it seems as if she'll be that way forever. but in her smile, you'll see that she's come around again, warmed back up.
at her worst, she's a hurricane, with tears everywhere, she's violent, momentarily unstable and doesn't give the slightest fuck about who she hurts (or how) when she's like this.
but the summer in her laugh that'll soon come makes her worth it - at least, i hope it does.
YOU ARE READING
past oblivion.
Poetry"what can i really say?" used to be my words, when i didn't know as much. when i got older, i responded to myself. "everything." now, i realize that i can use my breath to speak on everything in existence, from dust on jupiter to the depths of hell...
