The Me-Shaped Space in the Universe

I find poetry the hardest of all types of writing, and I envy and respect poets highly. I am usually not a poet, because I find it so difficult to do, but I believe this topic is best spoken about through a poem. It was written a few weeks ago, when I was caught thinking about how matter is never created nor destroyed, it only changes form. It is one of those things, like how dinosaurs drank the same water we drink, or how the ancient Egyptian jewelry I wrote about awhile ago seems so modern, that makes me feel humble about the universe and my small space in it.

This poem is called The Me-Shaped Space in the Universe.

I fit the me-shaped space in the universe perfectly.

The rest stops at my skin and inside it is me.

I used to see me as a hole

As if I wasn’t made of organs and soul

But of not-space, and not-time,

A bubble in the universe, made of something else.

And I would see my skin as a barrier

Keeping the universe away from my emptiness

A shell to keep predators away from my oysterous interior

But I never saw myself as being a pearl.

I didn’t fill, but now I am full.

I was full before my mother grew fuller with my weight,

Before the food she ate created me

Because matter cannot be created

And I am as old as the stars.

I am not a hole of nothing, nor of something never seen,

I’m not a hole at all, it was wholly wrong to believe

That just because my skin is mine it always was my skin.

I am made of the things I consume, of the air I breathe in,

I can trace my roots like the veins in my wrists.

My atoms were made when the sun was,

There is nothing outer about outer space.

In truth I am not a hole, but a stitch.

The fabric doesn’t stop at me,

I am a small percentage of the universe.

When I die I will not be gone.

My body will become ash, or dirt, then plants

My cells and atoms will continue being.

I fit the me-shaped space in the universe perfectly.

I have stardust in my skin.

The interesting thing about this poem, on self-reflection, is how self centered it is. A common theme on this blog (I think I’ve already talked about it, if not, stay tuned for tomorrow) is/will be the question of self importance. Am I as an individual important, special, or am I nothing? Am I great or unremarkable? In this poem, I try to get across my beliefs on the matter, which are that while we are all important and valuable to ourselves and in our own lives, we are meaningless to the universe, because we are just a part of the fabric of life. Not an unimportant part, but one part of many. We are all, after all, parts of the universe. And that is both amazing and unremarkable all at once.

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