I know it’s backwards
But it seems as though we inhabit a square-hole world
Less blue and green, more black and white
Less circumference, more conformity

Here, we categorically name and divide
What fits and doesn’t
Who fits and doesn’t
Until our own hues becomes muted and shape morphed…
Yet somewhere rolling around on the floorboard is my round-peg soul

Meant for mountain scaling over flatland dwelling
Seaworthy yet landlocked
Ripe with fervor to behold the un-beheld yet blindfolded
Bursting with a song but bound and gagged

And somewhere near the place where SHOULD and SUPPOSED-TO-BE die their just deaths
The high altitude heart
The wanderlusty sailor
The beholder
The songwriter
The one who never quite found their edge

Remembers…

That the ground underfoot too is an orb
The warmth above a sphere of fire
Each pointy asterisks star we've hand sketched since childhood- circular infernos
The eyes of my children, azure ellipses of endless possibility
Nomadic routes trekked and sailed by generations before us in search of home-
Spirals- formless, free and wrought with discovery

And this round-pegged soul, unboxing
Rolling and revolving
Snowballing and evolving
Abandoning compulsion to pancake my silhouette
To accommodate the space allotted
Or the desire to even fit at all

Begins to feel the lift from floorboards
By Hands that formed this form
Placing me in an orbit
Where my dark and illuminated sides dance around the Light

Reflecting all the YOU in me
I failed to see