Reinvent the Wheel; Recreate the World

Reinventing the Wheel

where I am the wheel,

and my mind keeps spinning

trying to figure out how to be something different.

A mast to a sailboat, maybe,

or a stained glass window.

A map of the stars, adorning the sky as

a mirror into the ocean.

Maybe, the ocean itself.

My mind is tired of spinning in circles.

It wants to forget shapes exist in the shapeless abyss

and kiss sailboats with salty lips.

It wants to stop spilling salt and forgetting which shoulder to throw it over.

My mind wants to spot spinning over if this fates me to bad luck for 7 years.

My mind, the broken bottle of sailor tongues,

process art of becoming a sea glass collection.

Sea glass girls, become strong willed women.

Resilient and adaptable.

My mind, a timid tsunami

quivering and afraid

of the hurt caused by becoming

what it was meant to be.

Still not in control of the force that makes me become

Matter Becoming.

Waiting, patient and unsure

for the push of becoming.

The tectonic plates are my breast bones.

As they shift, my tidal waves change,

and in the perfect timing of their furious nose dive into each other,

and up toward my celestial mirror

 I become that which I was fated to be.

A sweeping force, powerful enough to engulf Atlantis below

my creation of a New World.