I often misplace myself,
The wrong place and the wrong time,
The repeated search of a lightning
That, in an effort to not strike
The same spot twice,
Hits the exact same coordinates.

To place yourself is to create a label.
It is written in my packing:
Person, curious, kind, perfectionist, independent.
But the course of happenings is organic.
Rules are only a posteriori things.
I can't be a person because
There is no such thing as a person.
Curiosity is a movement,
Kindness, liquid.
Perfectionism, illusion.
Independence, a vague concept,
Lacking definition and sense,
Useless to be argued.

To be correctly placed
Is to be sole,
A desirable, painful choice.