Broken Seeds

re-posting, by request

Chimera Poetry

Little one,
little seed,
are you staying small because it’s scary,
because it’s painful
 to stretch?
Or because someone may see you?
Is a weak smile and nod the only defense left in your pocket,
were you told it was unfriendly to take up more space than you are allotted?
Stretch my dear one,
my flame,
my star,
my child of wonder…
and you don’t have to smile for anyone when you don’t want to.
The ones who made you feel like you could never measure up
could have never imagined the size of you once unfurled.
You were made for grandness.
There were once castles and giants on top of a mere beanstalk,
and you?
You can house whole worlds, 
balanced on your self.
Believe in 
I do.
Concentrate on your core,
your roots and the sun,
dig deep.
Your strength is no accident,
it is no…

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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