Crumpled
This poem came about as a result of me pro-longing to make a phone-call. I had a small post-it square to make notes, but for whatever reason, couldn't bring it within myself to call..
I took the small words on paper in my hand
and watched them implode around me
first its edges, gently
my fingers pressing down to submerge
the center full of water
Now full of wholeness, and empty of other things,
I realise either way I began the process, inside out or outside in, whatever I wrote are now far from existence
locked away in a bin lined with memories.
Nature has its process, trust in it. Let the small things add up to something bigger and vise versa.
