pretend to know me:
at my very core there is a door that leads to another
you will find nothing that you find sense in
a collective molecular abnormality
a genetic dysfunction
a soul made of equations that have not yet scratched the surface of geometry
i am not something to be solved in your laboratory mind,
under scrutiny i change my shape and very essence before you
i am not the box you put me in, nor am i the ribbons, the tape, the thin festive paper that rips easily
i am underneath that and underneath that
and the atmosphere surrounding it
but don't you dare tell me who i am
the years have not been kind and i have suffered, too,
and i deserve to keep the truth of my being to myself,
that deep well guarded
by creatures only found in mythologies
i find comfort in fiction, because i have been forsaken by reality
i do not hand myself over to others
and i will not hand it over to you.