i wrote a poem
roughly a year ago
the blues of self-discovery
ebbing-and-flowing
as i,
growing,
struggled to find ways
to ride its tidal wave

i’ve settled,
atleast temporarily.
identity is a fickle thing

heart palpitations,
an amorphous entity
awakened.
lurking within cavernous depths,
careening behind the nooks
of an unintelligible space.
why are you so shy?
come close,
come to the light.

the ink of a pen
caressed between fingertips
fingers taken close to the
curvature of a *****'s lip
then deftly swatched atop their cheek
a mirror asks:
what hue am i?

emotional sensitivity:
a stigmatized sensibility.
“primitive”.
“socially unacceptable”.
i’ve lost myself
to psychological suppression,
pretending to lack feeling
when perceptual meaning
comes intuitively
before rationally.

never felt synergy
quite like this.
bliss.
****** tension surmounts
my psyche.
come on, come bite me.
******* flesh
before i feel regret
come morning.

emotions swell
logic loses efficacy

whispers of affection
and shy glances of admiration
heart swells in adoration

how simple,
yet so fulfilling

i trivialize my life
consistently.
presuming life to be fruitful
for others
in ways my own cannot,
will not.
i feel at a standstill
climbing a hill whose peak is as elusive
as meaningful self-discovery is.

reality seems to idle,
ascension of the mind seems futile.