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My Acropetal

by Bobo theHobo about a month ago in surreal poetry Β· updated about a month ago
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Pruning

My Acropetal
Photo by Luca on Unsplash

We entered the World with certainty.

We belong here, with thee,

We fit in here; everyone can see.

You have taken us away abroad,

What is this bittersweet masculine tea?

...

Where am I, father?

Where am I, mother?

Where have you brought me?

All are different; I no longer belong; oh gee.

I want to go back; let us not stay long.

I do not know these people,

They hurt me every day, wherever I go.

Where is our hometown steeple?

Please take me back, don’t leave me solo.

...

I never said these things.

Instead, I forced myself into these shattered streets.

They broke my bones and tattered my teeth.

I don’t care anymore; challenge me.

You have made me into a beast.

I cheat, beat down, and these have become the best of my feats.

I am a survivor; look at my enemies flee.

Observe my strength, new friends, and impersonations.

Look at me and tell me what you see.

...

One time after another,

The years go by,

We grow bigger and stronger,

These mob now know us hereby,

We no longer struggle or suffer,

But they see us now and fuss,

They all disavow, how suss.

...

Culture shifts once again,

We see the opportunity; it has become a known creedal.

Without hesitation or refrain,

We approach excitingly; we are unified afresh.

But we no longer recognize these folk,

We no longer belong; we no longer mesh.

…

We love your torso of steel. Meagre;

For we feel weak.

We love your legs of iron. Eager;

You will not get a peak.

We love your scars. Beleaguer;

They remind us of what people seek.

I reminisce and try no longer to miss.

...

We have built ourselves callously;

We vowed never again to be vulnerable.

We walk upright everyday pridefully;

As if we were honourable.

Living like this provides no refuge,

We can no longer use subterfuge,

We will not live like you, for if we do;

We will always feel blue.

...

I have begun once more on a new path,

The same mistakes I will not replicate.

I am consolidating myself in this aftermath,

I will no longer fumble with my fate.

It is happening rapidly,

Sometimes I struggle to keep pace,

But I am maintaining a good watch over my face.

I am annexing all my days,

This is no longer a display.

I am done playing masquerades.

...

This is my acropetal.

...

surreal poetry

About the author

Bobo theHobo

I have had a couple of culture shocks and an atypical upbringing. I am in search of my soul. Wherever I go, I see masquerades!

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