Punctuation
#2 of Poetry
This one is about finding your voice in a world over run with opinions
How often do you realize that we live on a little blue dot, adrift in an endless expanse of periods.
Not question marks, but facts. Statements. Laws that we seem to know are true because the research hasn't said otherwise.
And we call them theories.
Theory of motion.
Theory of evolution.
Theory of everything.
Sentences written by, not scholars, but scientists, and end in a period.
Odd to think that we, as humans, are bound by a dot when we ourselves stand more like an exclamation.
An opinion.
A shout.
A voice.
No matter the height difference, we stand tall.
And despite the periods we find ourselves living by, we still find ways to curl up at night into a question.
A thought.
A concern.
An idea.
We rebel against the statements, because in our heads we have the audacity to take the periods, and curl them at the top.
And that gives us power.
It gives us the power to dream.
To explore.
To grow.
And suddenly those periods don't hold as much meaning. Those laws we shackle ourselves to willingly at birth, become irrelevant.
And the only statement that holds meaning: I should know not to know.
Not to know the answers.
Not to know all truths.
Not to know everything.
We take an ethereal step back from our little blue dot, and we look around at the sea of periods around us, and then the space in between.
Thespacethatdoesntseemtoholdmuchmeaningbutwhentakenoutoftheequationcauseschaos.
We stare at the empty space, and find meaning.
We take our metaphysical dreams and connect the dots, filling that empty space with hope.
Hope for more.
Hope for guidance.
Hope for ourselves.