stick out

there was a stick

and it got stuck

and then it thought

“i’m in the mud

and i feel stuck

but i am a stick

so stillness

and stuckedness

must be my way

and  so although

this mud

it feels a mess

and it is starting to set

and hardened

and tighten

around me

i feel

even as a stick

that i am stuck”

yet it yearned to be unstuck

but feared that would mean

it did not want to be a stick

“sticks must be stuck, yes?

but in wanting to be unstuck

am i wanting to not be

myself

a stick?

and in that fear of not being stuck

would i not be a stick

and therefore not be?”

but oh and ah and then

the heavy rain came

and the mud washed away

and the stick

was naturally

unstuck

and it realized that although not stuck

it was still

still

and a stick

but only a stick

because it had forgotten

its true self

and had let itself

temporarily become defined

by the confines

of the mud around it

and the thoughts

and the words

and the circumstances

yet all along and forever more

it was a stick

and the rain kept coming

and the water ran

and the stick began to float

and now it was a floating stick

unstuck

but still a stick