There is a way knowledge breathes itself in,
not through the sleek corridors of thought,
but where the chest rises without command,
where the shoulders learn to exhale stories.
A habit is not born in the brain
it roots in the bend of the spine,
the clenched jaw, the hurried pulse,
the way you stand too small for yourself.
Understanding is not simply an arrival.
It is a language that must echo,
calling to the silent spaces inside you;
the hips that hold, the ribs that guard,
the heart that shivers like unclaimed glass.
You cannot untangle a knot by naming it.
You must feel its pressure against your skin,
trace it with trembling fingers, and then,
offer it something softer than resistance.
To change is to rewrite every cell's story—
not just with symbols, but with steady hands.
Not just by knowing differently,
but by becoming something new.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: August 21st, 2026 10:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments3
This poem dives deep into what it is to understand and to know. Well written Gray
Thank You Soren
You are most welcome Gray
Good write
Thank You for sharing your feedback
a beautiful piece, rich in deepness
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