High above this
destiny

I can see your private
mystery

Mechanical wasp controls
the hive

Its sensors are buzzing and about
to go live

Over the shoulder, around
the bend

The naked you is about
to trend

this thief in the night~ left his prints in sight~ on that wayward flight~ around the moon's light~ he stole what you write~ harboring your ship's right~ for his boat is spite~ he caused a storm's might~ buoyed by his own smite~ yet fished the sea, quite~ and caught an indict~ this closure shines bright~ thanks to a beacon's light~

Logan Robertson

8/19/2019

Sometimes I look down at my hands and I realize that I do not know who is controlling them. I do not feel like I'm me, when I look in the mirror there's always a voice in the back of my head convincing me that what I am seeing is not really there, that I am not in fact the being staring back at me. My hands are not my hands, my legs are not my legs, and my face isn't my face. It's like I'm living, but through someone else. But I don't want to be someone else anymore, I want to be me. But who am I?

I like to put my feet up
on the wall
and cross my legs over the tile
it feels comfortable
and smooth
         this is my bastion
vast and wet and screaming for
a release.                          but most often
it's a quiet place
a temple I've built to worship you in
where words echo somberly
invaders demand their boat back
and ask if it floats
  it does