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A Child's Perspective: A Poem

TaJuan is an aspiring writer hoping to gain experience and growth through publishing passionate works, like this one, online for the world.

a-childs-perspective-a-poem

I was alone,

Outside,

Taking in everything,

Waiting for the weed to take effect.

The sun had gone to sleep,

Along with my family inside.

An outcast of sorts,

I was.

I am.

I hate the idea of an outcast,

For we are all unique beings

Destined to acquire a conglomeration of traits

Which make us

Us.

So, in some way

We are all outcasts.

So then,

None of us are outcasts.

I don’t know.


Sleep has always been elusive for me.

They call it insomnia,

The educated.

I despise the education system,

Yet I am not ready to dissect it in its entirety.

I simply don’t have the words,

The ability,

The education.

Ironic.

To unravel the system I despise,

I must utilize said system.

Even funnier,

The path I intend on taking

As a “career”

Is a teacher.

Two roads:

Either revolutionize from the inside

Or fall victim to their ways.

I pray every night for the former

To a Man I don’t know I believe in or not

Yet another topic

I am not prepared to dissect


I put “career” in quotes earlier,

For one reason only:

I don’t wish for a career.

Rephrase.

I don’t wish for a singular career path.

I refuse to become boxed,

Trapped in quicksand,

Practicing monotony

Until my retirement.

That is not the life I dream of.

I want to do many things,

Anything,

I desire.

As long as it brings pleasure

And tranquility of mind

For not only myself

But others as well,

I will be content.

I believe that’s how we ought to live our lives,

Using our passions and natural gifts

To increase the net happiness of the world.

I learned this philosophy in a class once.

I guess the entire system isn’t broken.

Things rarely are fully anything,

Good, bad, whatever.

Sometimes, they just are.

I try to treat each case with an examined eye,

Rejecting generalizations,

For even the murderer may have their reasons.


The weed began to take in effect,

A wonderful escape.

My appreciation of the world around me increased.

The soil underneath me

Massaged my back.

I gazed at the plentiful amount of stars

Which lit up the world

Ever so slightly.

And the animals,

Oh, the animals.

I watched a lone squirrel traversed up a tree

I questioned this

“Why squirrel?

Why are you up at this hour?

If time is even a concept you can grasp”

(Funny, grasping the intangible).

I wished I could read their minds,

Animals,

And discover the simplistic thoughts that run rampant,

Knowing they’d be unintelligible to me,

For the squirrel does not know English;

However, I desire it nonetheless:

A human quirk.


A literal night owl flown past me,

Soaring through the night sky,

Sprinkling emotions of jealousy as it went by.

I yearned flight,

Though I am scared of heights.

No, not heights,

I am scared of falling.

To fear the fear of heights is to truly fear falling,

For falling evokes a frightful sensation

Which stems from something else:

The uncertainty of it all.

So to fear the fear of heights is to

Fear the fear of falling

Which, in all actuality,

Is to fear

Uncertainty itself.


That’s simply my perspective on things ,

All of it is.

My eyes perceive,

And my mind attempts to figure it out.

It’s all an attempt,

Just an attempt,

For I don’t know anymore than

The children,

That laugh and play,

Swimming in ignorance.

And neither do you,

No matter your education level.

You: objects to perceive.

No different than a mere pebble

So why spread any form of hate

Towards each other,

Or the Earth

We are all connected

As objects of perception.

All equally existing,

And not existing,

Depending on the perspective at hand.

I am the only thing that exists.

I alone, was.


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