Ollie Ollie Oxen Free

I crawl within myself, at times,
hide in the folds
of my innermost curtains,
soliloquy silently
and dream about the end of the world.
And yet, I get places.
I pretend to be fragile,
act like I’m invulnerable,
reach for things
I never really wanted in the first place,
all the while
being myself in all the manners
they didn’t mean
when they told me to be that way.
No one can tell me why.
I often wonder
if anyone really knows
a tenth of what he speaks about,
or if it’s all bluff,
and that’s the only real craft
in the whole world.
But still, things get done.
I am no one to talk,
in fact, I am no one,
really, because
I am only special
like everyone else is special —
and maybe you are no one, too:
but you know,
if you do be it
in just the right way, it can be
something to brag about:
understanding your infinitesimality
lets you see how wide, wide
the world can be,
how innumerable the possibilities,
even if you only
dream of doing something about it,
crawling out of yourself
strangely metamorphosed.
Ollie Ollie oxen free.