Poembox: You Call Yourself An Individual?

Kiera Furness takes Poembox this week with a poem which explores individuality and a sense of self.

Kiera Furness
13th February 2021

You call yourself an individual?
The universe practically mirrors you darling.
You’re just a doppelgänger,
destined, determined, dazzling.
Your nervous system is lightning,
stretching across the sanguine stars,
like thin electrocuted arms.


A cacophony of radiant pathways,
disorderly within your interior maze,
of valiant, vast veins. A vortex
that replicates the rivers you walk by.
There are galaxies within your cells,
glimmering as the water currents rebel.


You call yourself an individual?
There’s nothing independent about you.
Your eyes are sphere planets,
marbled blue like cold cool Neptune.
You steal Saturn’s aesthetic
by placing its rings on your fingers.


The crown of your hair spirals,
like the milky way. 
A Fibonacci sequence, splayed 
throughout the history of existence.
The distance between you and the universe
is miniscule. 


You call yourself an individual?
The empty shell of your skeleton,
is the branches of the trees,
where birds sit and breathe.
Your hallow bones are the wormholes,
folding time until there’s none left.


You reach outwards and touch the sky,
but you own it.
Your palms are stained with lines,
a duplicated map of pathways and signs,
You call yourself an individual?
You’re nothing but a copy.

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