Corrected Version
Resolute to thrive, to go all in, and find my own truth,
hidden behind, like alleys inside the great streets of a portrait.
The ones I can't carry, the ones I keep waking up—
shoes broken up, dreams aren't what they seem,
at least not in this reality
of not forgetting, of keeping, attaching,
letting go of matching memories,
spaces inside a black agenda.
Then what?
Maybe I can ride in; maybe, if I let go, I can float.
Mysteries from the times I used to play by my mom's side:
I could travel the world,
play with words,
conjure a thousand worlds, and
feel the mist of the morning songs,
crying bliss within my heart,
where the root of a broken plan lies—
an insinuation caused by mass communication,
deep yet apparently irrelevant,
carrying messages
for you to be
a servant.
I'd rather be a plant, growing deep in my ground, firm in the land,
strong against the wind, open and receiving
the harsh yet warm love of the sun,
open and grateful for the waters; through them rejoice those who commune.
They cry, they eat, and hope to become
the juices of this globe.
Instincts flow.
Flow.
Flow.
Flow…
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Read the original, uncorrected text
Original Version
Resolute to thrive to go All in and find my own truth
Hidden behind, like Alleys inside the great streets of a Portrait
The ones I can't carry, the ones I keep waking up
Shoes broken up, dreams aren't what they seem
Not at least in this reality
Of unforgetting, of keeping, attaching
letting go of memories matching
Spaces into a black agenda
Then what?
Maybe I can ride in, maybe if I let go I can float
Mysteries of the times I used to play in my mom side
I could travel world,
play with words
Conjure a thousand worlds and
feel the mist of the morning songs
Crying bliss in my heart
Where there is the root of a broken plan
A insinuation, caused by mass communication
Of deep apparently irrelevant
Carrying messages
For you to be
A servant.
I rather be a plant, grow deep in my ground, firm in the land
Strong for the wind, open and receiving to the harsh but warmth love from the sun
Open and grateful for the waters of thru rejoice the ones that commune
They cry, they eat, and hope to become
The juices of this globe
Instincts flow.
Flow
Flow
Flow. .
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Literary Perspective
“Resolute” is a poem about choosing an authentic form of life in a world filled with inherited messages, broken expectations, and pressures to serve. The opening determination—“to go all in and find my own truth”—is immediately complicated by alleys hidden inside the streets of a portrait. The self is not standing in an open landscape; it is searching through an image of reality whose smaller passages are concealed.
Broken shoes and deceptive dreams suggest exhaustion from walking paths that were supposed to lead somewhere meaningful. The sequence of not forgetting, keeping, attaching, and letting go captures the heart’s struggle with memory: we cannot carry everything, yet we continue waking beside what we thought we had released. “Then what?” is the poem’s essential turning point. It interrupts abstraction with an honest question and opens the possibility of surrender—not defeat, but floating.
The childhood memory beside the speaker’s mother restores the imagination’s original freedom. Words once allowed travel and the conjuring of a thousand worlds. Yet language has a double nature: poetry can liberate, while mass communication can quietly transmit instructions that train a person to become “a servant.” The poem recognizes that not every message entering the mind belongs to the soul.
The final wish to become a plant answers that danger. A plant is rooted without being imprisoned, strong without becoming closed, and receptive without becoming submissive. It receives harsh wind, warm sun, water, grief, nourishment, and community, then transforms them into life. At the level of the human heart, the poem longs for belonging without servitude and for firmness without losing tenderness.
The repeated “Flow” becomes a mantra that loosens the grip of the earlier memories. The movement from city streets, to the mother’s side, to soil and the globe gives the poem a powerful widening arc. The line about “the waters of thru” is ambiguous; the corrected version reads it as water moving through and nourishing those who commune. If “thru” carries a different private meaning, that line should be revisited rather than permanently normalized.
This editorial reading is an interpretation, not a definitive statement of the author’s intent.
Featured image / Imagen destacada: den-belitsky via Envato Elements — licensed via Envato Elements for A Poet’s Diary.
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