My identity is
both water
and oil


                    It does not stick


Sometimes if i pour it in a bottle and shake really well,
for a few moments
I pretend that the SMALLER i get
oli bubbles to be,
the more blended it looks

I shake and I shake
But separation always comes back

I heard it.
A human voice.
Connection established, solitude broken.
The sound of a string snapping,
(....)
I hope I was mistaken.

Silence collapsing under its own weight.
Scattered quarks and anti-quarks  
shattering the perfect neutral harmony.
The remorseless swelling of matter.
Until no stillness, no Nothing remains.

Why can't I see a 'me'?

The chaotic nature of identity I cannot understand.

Feel like being set free inside a cage called 'I',

But I still dont know where I am.

I twist these words my own way,

So maybe I own them.

But how can I own anything?

When I havent yet owned my 'I'.

The devil inside me had been caged long enough,

And it came out roaring.

But I don't have anything,

Much less a devil inside me.

Inside it's filled with organs that make me live,

But how can I live when there is nothing inside?

Like the ship of Theseus,

I am being replaced by other's ideas for me.

Until, now nothing remains except theirs,

Do 'I' now cease to exist - no longer a rooted tree?

Truly a chameleon too much,

So now theres nothing that is me I can truly touch.

The river is beautiful because you are looking at it,

Therefore I am not beautiful as I cant look at 'I'.

A container that never stops giving to other's,

But there the container called 'I' is hollow.

Even with an aim you strive for,

I can't achieve it when there's empty between both shores.

Truly a building without bricks,

A nest without sticks.

An 'I' without a me,

A personality without am identity.

I just can't look inside my 'I' and see,

Will there ever truly be a me? 

-A truly anonymous, anonymous(me)

write an anthology for which
broken part of me?
       the one that weeps for
        innocuous souls too early departed,
                or the one that split
                their necks open, looking
                for gold?

i’ll tell you, there’s
no treasure in the eyes
of the hated, and no
hope in the minds of
those who burn cities
to the ground just to
smell charred dreams --

staying alive
is a risk that permeates
the groundwater everyone
in my life drinks from. i could
be angelic or heretic,
new found or lost
to the ideas of men i once
was, before led astray,
before the radio chirped,

& my intruder’s openness
closed the hearts of souls
uncold

lets play hide and seek*, said my indentety, *I will hide, you seek