What I carry is insignificant,
What it means to you doesn’t matter.
Why it falls and on this wall makes a splatter?
This is my burden to carry,
I am the one who swallows this bullet, not you.
I am my own ego-death and then I’m not.
Yes I realize
______________I am not among the few.
I am my own and alone.
I am half of a whole and never lonely.
I didn’t ask for your help.
_____________(I don’t need fixing)
Just love me.
_____________Because I love you.
Posted in Personal
Tagged alone, bullet, burden, carry, half, help, individual, lonely, love, poem, poetry, swallow, whole
A crisis not of many words
And terrifying in its simplicity.
Approaches from behind the shadows
Cast by ones own identity.
“Who am I?” then “Who are you?”,
The better question arises.
The answer relative, in a vacuum of what society despises.
One cannot respond with their name,
Though that is all what is expected.
This excludes the discovery made while one sits calm, and collected.
Incomplete and not entirely untrue,
It is enough to sedate the curiosity.
The oceans surface like a name does not reveal its own entirety.
This cannot be answered by a question only of the surface.
Through quests of years, and trails of tears,
An outcome far from worthless.