The level of my skill hovers somewhere between now
And the day my story reaches its end.
To those looking for a definitive measure of my abilities,
A qualitative and or quantitative study of my talent
Is hidden between the crevices that mark the borders governing a single moment.
A single moment, from the beginning till the end of time
Spaced out and compartmentalizedÂ
Into what we, as humanity, believe to be digestible:
A calendar.
Four dimensions bind our reality,
A sandbox we’re content building our little castles in
We all have our chosen spots; but still, they ask where I fit.
Where I fit, in this illustrious sandpit.
All the while not asking who or what holds it all together.
“What? No. Not me. That would be crazy.”
My body may be bound to the familiarity of this plane,
But my mind? Well, my mind wanders.Â
Mental musings scaling the space that exists between constellations
— And that’s on a bad day.
Unapologetically wild with my thoughts and all processes associated.
Concealed within my brain casing is a world I am in love with
A world I wish to show you with each word I write.
But, much like anything else;
Everything in moderation, right?
– O.D. ©2019
Art by: SquidMag
O.D. 
A very profound poem. We all are continuously looking for that spot to fit right in, looking for that missing piece of the puzzle. Trapped in this society which wants you to adhere to certain guidelines and ready to oust you at the drop of a hat
Thank you Megha. And I wholeheartedly agree with everything you said. The word “trapped” truly signifies everything.
Glad you agree.Have a nice day O.D
You too my friend.
A compelling poem. Thank you
Thank you 🙂🙂🙂