I remember writing this a while back and it continues to be relevant to my life even more now. Not to say, I am a famous person by any measure, but I am STILL very social. I talk to a lot of people through the social mediums given to me but it can be extremely overwhelming.
I love to share but I only have so many hands/scissors at one time. 😀 I look above, below, and to the side of me and there is still someone. Someone is still calling out my name. I feel like sometimes I’m in a rush to respond to everyone at the same time BUT I have to remember, to take it easy. I only have 10 fingers, and only 5 of them (Interchangeably) are used on the keyboard (Not considering my thumbs when I text message). I only have so much, and it’s always an expedition when I journey through the seas of social media. Every morning, I wake up to
Every morning, I wake up to a multitude of messages and I respond within the honor of the day. No complaints, because I am actually establishing ties and I feel very close to the entwined purpose of everyone. Sometimes though it’s like my fingers are like an octopus.
I developed a theory, called ‘Cloned Octopuses’.
An octopus is an intelligent being and it helps that, they have so many ligaments to accomplish a work! Now, what if they were cloned? I would have so many arms to accomplish the work given to me. If you didn’t know, an octopus is very good at hiding as they mimic landscapes, as a defense mechanism.
I’m not saying, that I don’t like responding, to anyone, this just helps me explain the nature of my communication. They are one of the most mysterious sea creatures, and I find them very fascinating!
Here is the poem, addressing what great power it would be to visualize this concept in motion.
The ligaments of connected joints are in common expression of what has been made.
A series of likeliness has developed the unique order of engraved creation.
I hear the charges of infuriated response calling out into the echoed cave.
They want an answer to scream into their thirst, of a thousand replies.
I’ve generated another copy which somehow plots the standard of a fantasy and yet the stone is entrusted into my building.
Then, there is the stoned reflection of my countenance, which I can no longer determine is my true mirror.
I’ve given myself into the consumption of physical duty, and the shadows of myself are becoming many.
I repeat the recited prayers to exercise within divinity, as I return to a consummation of infinity.
The registers of my symmetry are plagued by the waters.
Deeply intelligently by the skills of my distinguished nervousness.
I am slow to reply or is my reflection the result of complicated movements?
I can’t live long as my eggs are broken after birth, and my spawning leaves a lot to be desired.
I hide within the camouflage of mimicry.
I seek to prey through the lens of a changed color, to fit the mold which will give me a sense of awareness.
I am not able to be kept secure, as I am able to solve through because of my destined mobility.