Bloom
The wind ruffles the feathers of their wings Carrying them higher It settles them atop the roofs of some high rise buildings Light grey feathers and A yellow beak with a red-ish orange tip Calling out to the others That there might be food afterall "Maybe she'll litter And we can eat it up" It's funny I actually saw a bird holding a cup with its beak I'm sorry, I know that this isn't what you'd want to read But there's a rain stirring the feathers of birds They're nestled on the rooftops of apartment blocks And houses and office buildingsAnd here I am. Roused by the bleaknessThe coldness The scrooged hues of grey that lines the clouds Cars push against the wind And the rush and the sounds and the 'now' of it all It keeps me alert It keeps me in the 'now' An empty chai latte cup sways against the weather My curls press against my face And particles of rain pitter and patter on the screen of my phone And I'm wishing that I was anywhere but where I am, again. So I turn to look at anything other than the birds flying above our heads Down I shouldn't want to rip it out I shouldn't want to take it like its been mine all along I shouldn't want to be someone else entirely different from myself But how do you want to be entirely you in the first place? There's a flower in full bloom on the side of this road There's a flower dancing in the gust There's a flower with four petalsNo larger than the nail of my pinkie The colour of a white-ish lilac An ombre going from white-ish lilac to a deep lilac The stem is a brown-ish red And the rest of it is green like you'd imagine Like any stem of any flower Green like plants Like a geek bar watermelon vape pen Like jealousy And I know I shouldn't look at a bird's wings and wish to fly I shouldn't watch baby ducks grow as I pass them on my walk to workI shouldn't even be there to feed them And I shouldn't look at the sky pretending that I'm any less scared Than what I was at 15 than what I've been at any age I'm still scared by the vastness of it all A sky without clouds is too much of itselfWhen there are clouds then I can at least feel that there's a thing and something beyond said thing Perspective Depth But without itWithout them I am lost And it doesn't suit me to have become this bleak shell of a person, again. Don't you think an endless rollercoaster sounds like torture? I can't help but stop to watch birds fly And wonder whether I'm missing some kind of deeper meaning And though those ducks might be better off without me feeding themI look at them like they might talk back Because I'm hoping that someone will I shouldn't be doing this again But how do you break a cycle and move on?