Becoming
A Poem by Kolten Slaughter
I believe we hate who
we are because we did
not first fall in love with what we
wer’e becoming.
What a peculiar thought,
right?
This natural change which
feels so unnatural, this
wind which flows southward
is suddenly drifting north.
This journey in becoming
becomes bitter and hateful
when we gaze with eyes
too low for beauty.
Like a lamp dimly lit
in the darkness.
Why resist that which
doesn’t stop
chasing us?
It is startling to see the desires
of an artist be killed,
or the wings of a worm
never come to be.
We run from that change
and wonder why we have
become lost in the forest of
ourselves.
Do you believe the
Redbirds look at themselves
and wonder “how can we
Become more red?”
Do you think the old man
worries that his cigar
shoulders into ash
as if that cigar was not
Becoming itself?
No.
They just are.
Instead of drifting silently,
scream with your heart,
drift loudly in the wind,
and lead with your soul.
And then, just maybe then
you may find yourself already
there.