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Personal Poetry

Updated on February 1, 2015

Micro

I am a micro in a macro world.

I am a soft organism in a metal bowl.

I’m bound by force to this petri dish lined with dirt.

Eyes shut, fingers crossed.

I hope I don’t smash into something that might hurt.

Can’t loosen the bonds I have with my version of sanity.

I have too many quarks.


I am just a spec floating on a peripheral vision of the stars.

If they blink, I’m gone.

I exist between layers of confusion and determination.

I let myself believe and at times even hope.

Intertwined with blurry reality of today,

too many regrets of yesterday,

and few dreams for tomorrow.


I am a soft organism in a metal bowl.

The world keeps whipping around as I try to plant my feet on the ground.

Sometimes I stick but it’s not a habit I can perform.

It would be easier to be an object moving with the speed of actuality in an actual world

Keep repeating to myself, “self, remember, don’t run into anything too large to avoid.”


I am a soft organism in a metal bowl.

A negatively charged particle in a positive world.

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