Let them be as tranquil, placid ponds.
Always still, calm,
quietly dignified
but never changing.
I’d rather be an ocean on a stormy day,
tumultuous and in flux, like the universe we live in.
Our world does not stop,
does not pause
to take a breath.
Why should I try to be any different?
To have been alone
with nothing else but the windy,
storm-grey sky,
rising and falling
as gusts blow back and forth.
To be respected, not as consistent or serene
or even wise but as dynamic, a thing of energy.
A blustery sea.
I’d rather be unconstrained and abrupt,
and if then puzzling
or even alienating
to those who encounter me,
then to be calm and agreeable, the placid pond
where tranquility is guaranteed,
but change and the power to act is not.