Monachopsis
Can I be wrong even if it feels right?
Something feels out of place
And yet I haven't the slightest
Of what it could be that
Would cause me to feel
Like I'm doing something wrong.
Try harder, work longer,
Care less, give in more,
Whittle away pieces until
You see pieces of yourself
That you once loved
Scattered on the floor.
(02/13/17)
Ash
Pull me up until you can't
Then drop me down without consent
For your arms are weak
And my strength is gone,
So I remain a glass shell,
Fake and pretty, filled with ash.
(02/17/17)
Nameless
What if I didn't have a name?
If i remained nameless
and people were to call me by
nothing other than what I am;
what would I be called -
how would people remember me?
My own name feels like
sand in my mouth that
has been there too long
and I wince at the motion
of articulating it, of being
forced to define myself by a word.
A singular word is all
that some will know me by
and I can't help but wonder why
this concept seems ludicrous to me.
A word, just one single
collection of sounds
Is all that my identity is
transposed through to others.
But what if my name is
a foreign thing to me now?
Things have names for simplicity
only, for the sake of ease.
But what if i don't want a name;
what if i want to just be me?
Plants and trees and birds
exists in our living world
without names to call themselves
and still people look at a tree
and think it's pretty, even though
it doesn't have a name call itself.
Namelessness would be
lonely, though, I think.
For if I had no name I'm
not sure people would
remember me or who I am
because in this world it's too easy to be just a name, just a number,
just a repetition of those who
came before us, made something
of themselves before us. (02/25/17)
