I am convinced I am a tree by Hima Cicilia
I cut the soft core of my being
into neat slices and offer them up
to the world as poems.
This is one such poem.
My only prayer is to be able to belong. Somewhere, anywhere.
Here, take this poem and chew it down
to its seed so I can grow out of you.
I am tired of all the pretentiousness
and self-consciousness of being a human
and yet, here I am, writing a self-consciously pretentious or pretentiously self-conscious poem on my need to belong.
I am convinced I am a tree
that somehow broke
its ancient pact with a god
to grow hands and feet.
Now I am destined to run the world
in the same circle, pleading with people
to bite into my aching softness
grown too ripe over time, fatigued
and yet desperate from looking for mouths
to empty my seeds into, my frail hands
aching from bearing the weights
of my earthly existence.
Here, take this poem and chew it down
to its seed and be my god, will you?
May I grow out of you
like I do not have an elsewhere
at least till you are finished with this poem.