Sea Side

by: stacy

if i was a tree
and you were seaside rocks,
you're where i'd want to grow,
jutting and clinging,
even though there'd be plent of steady soil.
but that promise would never make me stray.

i'd have roots.
i'd have formed crookedly.
i'd have deformed and twisted upon myself.
but your boulders would be clinging
tightly, too.

and though i'm sure the soil would be great,
there's something about certainty that'd scare me.
i'd rather live in the gray.
it comes with a better view.

because white is blinding.
and black is boring.

when your rocks would crumble,
they'll say they hoped i learned my lesson.
but when their soil does absolutely nothing,
they'll have learned theirs, too.