on being myself
A brick-by-brick disguise
distorts who I am
as rippling renditions
radiate centrifugally forced
fractions of me.
Limited because,
the real me
might cleft your fictions
and flash opposing
sensibilities
through your eyes.
Trembling, I venture out
only when the roots of trust
begin to inch their way through
those heavy red bricks.
It’s always a gamble.
Inviting eyes pull me in
or cold eyes adjudicate
and dismiss me.
Weeding out their tenuous roots,
I fill the holes they leave
with an invasion of thyme
that releases its scent
as my heart gently bruises
against bricks in my wall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here is the prompt as provided at We Write Poems:
What are the limits, fences, boundaries you choose to stay behind? How do they affect your choices? Do you occasionally step over, across, or slide beneath them? Is there one place in your life experience where you push beyond those limits? What happens when you do? And what do you feel when you do that? Do you make limits in your poetry writing? Are there personal taboos of words or experiences that you steer clear of? Write about limits you have set, or ignored for next week.
7 comments:
First, the sound of this poem-I am a sucker for good alliteration. Then the fantastic images, like brick-by-brick disguise and the superb last two lines.
Well played.
Being the real self is always a bit of a gamble, but the rewards are most often worth it. (Knock on wood!)
We all use disguises of one sort or another, but it's always fun trying to dismantle the disguises put up by others.
It is so good to know that someone else feels this way. I still fear that someone will come along and prove that I am somehow no more than a phoney. But, smashing my own brick walls has become a life long endeavor. Thanks for this one,
Elizabeth
"as my heart gently bruises
against bricks in my wall." a very intense statement, Brenda. It is hard sometimes to show our true selves to others. Powerful write.
Pamela
Brenda, you challenged me with this one; I had a hard time with that first stanza, though I was fascinated by "fractions of me". I had to reread it and then it began to make sense - and it was worth the effort. I like the sense of breaking, the fractions and the cleft, and then the growing of trust. I hope your heart isn't too bruised; that ending really speaks to limits.
thyme is lovely
and yes i can imagine
the exploration
and the wall
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