I’m not so sure if my life is mine.
And for all these piteous things we strive
to make rip and burst and come alive,
I’m dying to find
a sentence contrived
from acrid delusions
and purpose divine.
And though these proportions may seem out of line,
my beliefs will not wither with the passing of time.
I’m not so sure if my life is mine.
I told this a stranger and got a tepid reply,
“This is my hand, and that is the sky.
Any other perception, dear girl, is a lie.”
And with that said, he passed me by,
leaving me thinking,
who even was that guy?
What does he know of water and wine
and plagues of flies
and besides,
my inquisition remains trite:
I’m not so sure if my life is mine.
The preacher says ‘by and by,
those who are sinners are those who will die.’
But through logic I don’t see why
we can’t seek out the lost and show them the light.
Because why should I feel obligated to ostracize
someone who wears a mask that has more cracks than mine?
Why should I feel fine
telling someone their life could be valid if only they would try
saying hi
to a group that’s been transmuted to shapes with shifty eyes
saying, ‘oh, I’m fine,
and you could be, too, just step in line,
with the rest of the people whose sin has been declined
in the little list of repairable offenses we made up in our minds.’
And at this point, I should resign,
for into these words fallacy grinds,
since now there are not so many minds that align
with the kind that I described.
Likewise, here begs the question why
I can’t seem to decide if my life is mine.
My thoughts are often unkind in the dead of night
when my body swears I’m fine but there’s no denying
my mind is still circumscribing these lies
that I’m tempted to break the binds that I have tied
around the faith that reminded me for a time
that my life
wasn’t meant to be lived in spite.
And I recognize that not everything the world says is right,
that pushing myself to defy the lines that define my inner mind
would not be an easy fight,
but it’s recently come to light
that though I’m not the perfect kind
and my hazy eyes might as well be blind,
I’m learning to serve a guy who is disinclined
to turn from those who turn from the light.
And I’ve come to realize, that though my answer is not so concise,
I might never really properly define
whether or not my life is mine,
But at least I know what I’m living for.
at night i convinced myself that this poem was the peak of my abilities and that it was my only point to be on this earth and was suddenly scared i'd die if i finished it. now that i'm done i feel weirdly peaceful