I subside on the constants
in waves and meters.

three am or pm:
one in the same.

apathy begets
apathy
in a circular swirl.

I remain insaitable
in my thirst for fluidity;
I foam at my breaks.

I remain solid;
jaw jutting against liquidity.

despite my pacifism,
I still cannot dissolve.

Father,
I must remind you that I am not you.

I cannot know yet the weight
the burdens you have carried
to bring me thus far,
but I know I've made them heavy.

I am unsteady and in disarray,
because I was raised in a storm and
you would not look at me, in the eye,
and so I grew up all alone.

Father,
I must remind you that I am your daughter.

I have your lonely hazel eyes
that observe better than others,
and see the quieting comfort
in a bitter brown drink.

I know you are a good man,
so I have not sought your approval
in the arms of inviting boys.
I sought it in myself instead.

But, Father,
I must remind you, I am me, alone.**

From you, I have learned
self-reliance and utility.
From your mistakes, I know
happiness is hard to keep.

When we are both older,
you may reach for my hand,
I will give you my money, but,
my hand may not be there.
          because I am your daughter, and I act alone,
                                                          ­                                       like you.

Father,
I must remind you that I am your daughter.

I have been hewn from
your own flesh and bone,
and though you may forget,
I am you.

Father,
I must remind you that I am not my mother

When you look at me,you see my other half;
I walk and talk and laugh like her.
You see my mother,
in my gender and my face.

I am more her than you.
We both have the darkness
that can summon thunders
and grant us empathy, unbounded.

Father,**
I must remind you that I am not your son.

When you look at me, you do not see
the same keenness of mind and
quiet grit both you men possess.
I am sorry I am not better.

I speak to him, instead of you
in times I need a masculine support,
and when I face moral quandries.
I learned not to ask you.

Babylon is gone.

Commonalities are gone;
speech was lost with every story.

I have time, I am young
I abuse it too much.

You don't have time and
I abuse what you have left.

and

you are beside me,
but I am alone.

We built Babylon, together.
In a quest for something
just, like-heaven.

You look at heaven and
I look at you,
the haven I once saw and

I can't understand,
(confusion of tongues)
and we've lost mutual language.

I crumble,
Babylon falls.

the two most frightening questions:

(a) what if I'm wrong?
(b) what if I can't right that wrong?

I was offered ****** once,
in a city now mine,
as I watched two men,
infringe on one's mind.

It created an unusual partnership, and
both men were mad, but
both have experienced
what few can say have.

"No, thank you."
I said, with a bit of a stutter,
to the (obviously) terrible
and perilious offer.

Curiousity still ensnared me a
little
inside,
and I wonder if I'll say
yes,
or maybe,
next time.

I would not say yes,
if my body was young,
but when I am withered,
why not just once?

Composed of the opposition,
I am too afraid of the meanings
within the reasoning and
extremities of polar ends.

Ex.
steadfast vs. capricious
sincere vs. contrived
sadism vs. masochism
expansive vs. nonexistent

(circle one)

Frankly, between my want to know every
     cloud-breaking peak and sunless crevice of my animal, me,
        on this circular search for a emotional enlightenment,
    
      I am exhausted, from the in-between.