Fitting-in, Between the Cracks

Count the molecules on the floor
count the atoms in liquids
double that irrelevant number
that is the number of cracks
between which I fall,
why struggle for connection,
for interaction, when each step
is a realization of how weak these bonds are.
Yet I cannot cut them all,
though the thought of dissolution
to dust, can be so pleasant sometimes,
No mourners, just the world
silently doing what it always has.

Whoever You Are

You are elemental
to my world, to my idea
of pollination and so much more
that scientists say is bullocks.
They say you are an overgrown molecule,
as important as a puzzle can be,
no you are what differentiates a face from a mask,
you are no replicant. Whatever a soul is,
you have one.

I like to think we are bonded together
by more than inevitable attraction:
Magnetism, gears turning, chemicals
released, voila, love...
how boring, I want to think that our
spirits were paired before birth;
we fell in love before we were born,
and when we see each other
it all comes back, at least the feeling.

Height Inhibitors

Dont reach up, dont touch the ceiling.
You will get your fingers cut off
they said, of the ceiling fan.
as if it was not bad enough
not to see the atmosphere
to be limited to a box.
Another worry: sharp,
whirring ceilings.
Setting sights
a little
lower.

This was an experiment in tying the poems structure to its meaning, just a little idea.

A little advice if you start getting into poetry, dont do it so other people will like it, if they do that is good, but write for yourself, put a piece of yourself on that page every time. And if someone doesnt like it, well listen to criticism, but dont let them decide who you are, just the way you express it, depending on many factors, a small thought.