If I Were the Wind

I've edited this poem multiple times over the last four years. The typed version is the most recent.

If I Were the Wind

If I were the wind, I’d travel the world and meet the people 
I’d blow a girl's hair into her face 
If I were the wind, I’d surround the children in the park with a warm embrace
And I’d ruffle the skirt of a girl on the way to a party
If I were the wind I’d blow really hard, raining leaves in autumn 
I would carry the clouds until they met the mountains 
And once they met I would push them over the tall peaks 
If I were the wind I would dry the tears of the mourner 
And send papers flying 

If I were the wind I’d be powerful 

I would blow trees down and make skyscrapers sway

I’d bring rains that drown and dry the lands that feed

I’d bring snows that freeze and carry embers that burn 

They’d try to stop me 

But I’d just blow until the windchimes started to laugh

If I were the wind, I would be oh-so lonely 

I’d be everywhere and nowhere 

I’d be something and nothing

I’d be loved and hated

If I were the wind, everyone would know me and I would know no one

If I were the wind, I’d never stay 

I’d come and go without a say

If I were the wind I’d want to be anything but

I would want to be the children in the park

Or the girl on the way to a party 

I would want to be the crying widow

I would dream of being the person chasing their papers

I would long to be the tree I blew down 

I would only be able to imagine the way a leaf felt flying through the air

And I would wonder what melodies created not carried sounded like 

If I were the wind, I’d long to be anything but

If I were the wind 

I’d long to be me

The essay that goes along with this blog is about breaking / up / the language / in your / poem. But alternatively, poetry is about breaking up / the world around / and / within / us. Looking inside myself I sometimes see a person. Other times I see someone, something, alien. A wriggling mass of dark tangled cords, wrapping, twisting, squeezing, writhing, eagerly awaiting its next snack (never a meal)- the smallest amount of visibility. It lives in me and makes itself a home, dictating my conversations, my actions, my opinions, my life. Forever enslaving me in its chains of self-hate. 

This poem is an exploration of a question, one that I keep asking myself, one that I have not asked myself.

The one thing I want more than anything is to just / be / me.