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Roots And Threads

//What, How, Why, Who, and Where//
What is up and down, but life 
going through moods that matter 
nothing once they are through? 
πŸŒΈπŸƒπŸŒΈ 
How might I abound, but strife 
release its horrid clatter 
o'er my every move? 
πŸŒΈπŸƒπŸŒΈ 
Why is my ev'ry sound, but rife 
with pointless, mundane chatter 
designed for naught anew? 
πŸŒΈπŸƒπŸŒΈ 
Who am I to amount, but fife 
through this unwanted platter 
painted only to behoove? 
πŸŒΈπŸƒπŸŒΈ 
Where's my final mound? But life 
remains in a ruined shatter 
with my torn roots askew?
//More Than Myself//
I am a thread in a quilt, 
Clinging to the unraveled fibers around me. 
They say, "Pull free, be your own thread!" 
🌳🌼🌳 
Though I break, I will not split 
For though faded, those shredding threads are what ground me; 
And without seams, I'd be dead. 
πŸƒπŸ₯€πŸƒ 
I have roots, spread far and wide 
Under soil malnourished and sparse of flowers. 
And yet, there's no place to transplant me. 
🌱🌻🌱 
The world screams, "You must divide Yourself from them." 
Don't they know solitude devours 
Those that haven't community? 
πŸ‚πŸ‘₯πŸ‚ 
What is a flower without 
A field in which to bloom, or a vase to delight? 
The unicorn without its herd? 
πŸ¦„πŸ€πŸ¦„ 
"I'm more than me," I cast out. 
What sort of fool would cut the strings to let the kite 
Fly free? Is that not absurd? 
⚘πŸ’¨⚘ 
Yes, I'm tied to shattered souls. 
But they are pieces of me, not a spider's web. 
I wasn't born to self-venerate. 
πŸ•ΈπŸŒΊπŸ•Έ 
Of myself, I'm not proved whole. 
Broken are they who forfeit roots and threads for self. 
How could I e'er separate? 
πŸ’šπŸ‘£πŸ’š

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