I remain puzzled by my own puzzles,
of pieces the universe strung together through its orbits,
of the shades of blue and pink and steel grey it painted
on my wrists and my cheeks and my tiny feet
for there is no reason why I should crave silence,
yet my ears thirst for it, and the noise of life too
I long to let loose, yet I keep my chest sewn shut
I have so much to say, but speaking drains me
because the warm and the cold runs and spins and stirs
and standing here, I remain confused
as I wonder what to be
and wander through the land and sea
searching for who to be.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
I remain puzzled by my own puzzles,
of pieces the universe strung together through its orbits,
of the shades of blue and pink and steel grey it painted
on my wrists and my cheeks and my tiny feet
for there is no reason why I should crave silence,
yet my ears thirst for it, and the noise of life too
I long to let loose, yet I keep my chest sewn shut
I have so much to say, but speaking drains me
because the warm and the cold runs and spins and stirs
and standing here, I remain confused
as I wonder what to be
and wander through the land and sea
searching for who to be.
an identity crisis, or just chronic ambiversion?
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