The Shape of Things
I am tired today of being a sphere
in a world of triangles and cubes.
I make myself small to fit in the spaces you provide
but always around me is the empty
of not
being the shape expected
and I am aware of the whispers and talk
about my lack of corners
my roundness is
humorous
a sign of how you are an us
and I am a them,

one of those kind of people;
Other.

You would have me grow edges of ego and feet,
Grounding myself in the Truths you can touch and the Words you name and see
And usually I am content to roll in my love and roundness
Believing the impossible and when i  leave the angled walls of Truth
unfurling my wings.
Today I think I would  be more content
if I could just find another here like me.

CC