Seth Olson
Poem
To me it is the sun
Mistaken, misconstrued and misshapen by hands not of my choosing
Stuff me and cram into that socially acceptable container of conformity
Cast me away- for uniqueness is not so easy on the eyes
Identity of self no longer mine to claim
But was it ever?
Hands quiver and palms sweat as desires of escape fill the dim lit room
I imagine my hand shooting up in the air waving as I scream “I WILL NOT BE SILENCED”
Silence… That’s the problem- there is nothing but silence as I awake from merely another dream
How easily it flows through others
They are natural conductors-conduits of knowledge and free thought
Mine I have paid dearly for, no free ride here
Mimic my every move and a brick wall you will be
Yet look deeper and you will see a crack that has given birth to a single dandelion
A weed to some
Yet to me it is the sun
A fiery ball of light that fuels the growth of its roots
Twisting and curling and swirling its roots engulf the wall
Then shattering into a million pieces that wall is no more
Yes that jail that confinement that captor is destroyed
Free at last!
My arm shoots up into the air my legs jolt erect and I jump on top of my desk
Screaming at the top of my lungs for the whole world to hear I proclaim:
Then there is silence…
Nothing but silence as everyone turns in disbelief
Sometimes I stumble over the remnants of that wall
To the naked eye they are nothing more than chunks of dry clay
Yet to me they are re-memories
Reminders of a dream to be heard