People say your life is like a line.
The line starts at Point A when you’re born.
And everything you do,
every action,
makes up a part of the
thick solid line that is you.
That stretches on and on and on,
all the way to Point Z
when you die.
And none of that baloney is true.
Life is like trying to draw a straight line.
You can try to make it straight,
but the odds are that
something is bound to mess you up.
Sometimes your sleeve gets caught in the way.
Sometimes your hand shakes and the pen wobbles.
Sometimes your hand smudges the part you’ve already drawn.
And life doesn’t just suddenly start and end,
It’s a vine that slowly stems and grows up towards the sky,
That doesn’t end when you do,
But goes on and on,
To continuously build
and grow.
So life isn’t anything like a line,
Life is all about trying to draw one.
(I found this poem that I wrote in October).
