River-Lipped (poem)

I was too river-lipped, they'd say...

an aerial view of a river in a desert

---

eroding the rocks and dams that dared to

stop these flowing truths that weren't meant

to live out their days in vaults.

Like it is,

I said it.

But that's hardly ever what they wanted.

They reprimanded and demanded me to

halt.

So I'd sully these lips in layers of mud

and let Sahara sun have her way.

Now, cement-lipped,

cracked at the tips.

Is that better?

Much.

Even though I'm out of touch

with exactly who I am?

Sewed shut lips.

Now's not the time for it.

Can't let them win,

those who told me

to tone myself down

to translucent gray.

My poetry may hide behind figurative language at times,

but I never allow it to be out of touch with the times.

My words aren't meant to even-keel you, no.

They'll either catapult you to cloud 9 and beyond

or bring you to your knees,

ground you to Gaia,

a world that needs

more compassion,

less killing,

more willingness to change,

less filling our minds with rage.

I'm river-lipped, I say

and river-lipped, I'll stay,

flowing

and thus growing

along with the ever-expanding

Universe.