Existence
I know you saw a part of me, but you didn't see the Self I carry around every day.
You robbed me of a piece of my existence, stealing off with it, locking me away in your mind
a half-formed truth, at best
but now that half-formed truth lingers Out There
where I can't touch or affect it.
No longer dynamic, it remains deformed, trapped, static and unwhole.
Tiny deformed fragments of myself, relegated to neurons firing, neurons dying
I wonder if that fragment is part of me now, if it counts toward my Existence
I release it to you, it's yours
I've no use for it anymore.
You robbed me of a piece of my existence, stealing off with it, locking me away in your mind
a half-formed truth, at best
but now that half-formed truth lingers Out There
where I can't touch or affect it.
No longer dynamic, it remains deformed, trapped, static and unwhole.
Tiny deformed fragments of myself, relegated to neurons firing, neurons dying
I wonder if that fragment is part of me now, if it counts toward my Existence
I release it to you, it's yours
I've no use for it anymore.
Labels: Poetry
posted by slickaphonic at 11:57 PM
3 Comments:
gorgeous. thank you.
still bugs ya though! I know, I've done it, and it in some part of me I am still embarassed-mortified-helpless and that makes me nuts. When I think about it. Which I do.
FJ: You're welcome
TT: You're right.
But I'm working on it. And writing this went a long way towards a necessary release.
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