The truth is, I never know what I'm going to do next.
Every moment remains unfinished and yet,
there are times when I know myself;
even though I know about me,
having never really met I face to face.
Strange isn't it, that a person can be
a mystery solved and yet still a puzzle,
a question and answer entwined.
There is rhyme but no reason,
and every day actions commit treason
against what I believe.
Sometimes is it impossible to conceive that all these words and ideas reside in me.
I do not know how I am still living
amongst all of these contradictions
and delusions of fiction,
how it hasn't all just combusted from lack of attraction,
how I haven't managed
to completely lose my mind
in a manner that would render me fit for an asylum.
I live like I know surety.
As I have been etched into to stone
and am eternal in this phase;
as if certainty is my age old friend
and purity the crown it has given me.
And I watch as people think of me as sound.
I watch as wish I could be different,
like the sea, so changeable yet always the same.
Like the sky, a promise that holds so much
potential to be anything it wants.
I do not know how to reconcile,
how to connect all the differences I see
in the smile of you as opposed to me.
I am just a mass of chaos, fear, and hope,
all fettered to this body.
Consolation comes only in
the knowledge that I am not the first,
nor will I be the last to not understand who I am
or who I hope to be.
SK
