Tell me I’m brilliant
For the fibers and threads of my mind have recently tattered themselves
Leaving an array of unfinished thoughts and suppressed emotion
Piling up until my worth has been completely displaced
A tower such as I needn’t have limits such as these
However, I have recently become accustomed to the cruel realities of the world
Where everything exists as a number, high or low
Acquiring these numbers prompts man to do back flips, cart wheels, until he knows all he can possibly know
I stand with man on a platter of judgment
Look at me through the glass and assess how transparent my eccentricity is
Whosoever fabricates their lives should be cast out, but how often is this really done?
I stand with a number possibly too small and maybe too outreaching
It all depends on what the powers are teaching
The numbers leave no room for speech or rhythm or character
This is why I choose word as my craft, in hope that everyone can stand on that judgment pillar and feel light upon their shoulders
And breathe slowly into their souls
And say that the world will oblige me, whatever number I hold in my hands
I have not been put in this world to give into such demands.