By Devin Taylor
Im above the undergrove
But I’m stuck beneath the shrubs
I’m a fully grown bear
But yet I’m no better than my cubs
I’m an incandescent Writing machine
yet I’m no better than the rest
I want the skills
of dollar bills
A power of which
no one can contest
acts like a golden sleeve
That hides the power within my leaves
That steals my ability to perceive
the world around me, like a thief .
My infertile mind unable to conceive
due to Allium Cepa,the Onion,
Hidden in my trees
Their words are sweet like that of a honey suckle
Mossy green envy
Leaves my knees no choice but to buckle
And down these hills I’m destined to tumble
My once powerful words now fated to a mumble
But there’s no drops
In my stomach when I hop
Hop from hill tops.
I’ll hop above the yellow tinted grass,
and the treetops made of brass,
Past the blue birds and their sas
zooming through the course like a class that’s hard to pass.
And I hope In the future that I won’t fall
I might get a few scratches
But hey that’s all
And for the first time in a while the sun bear looks quite tall
from now on I’ll love being for who I am
I won’t scrap my words, procrastinate ,
Stall till a better me shows up
A me that doesn’t want to throw up
when she performs
A me that never goes past
The rivers or the lakes
A me that conforms to society’s standards.
A me that never steps out of her hibernation zone
cause that’s all she knows.
But this me
The explorer, she refuses to be confined
to these comparisons made by her ridiculing mind
And in time she’ll be the vine
That grows above the undergrove.