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Wherever I go, I find
Something new about me, about you.
I am no mystery, you are no new.
Yet we always stand here to learn and grew...
Each passing day is incognito like I hide my selfhood in you.
You carry, I flow..
You demand, I show
You attempt, I undergo..
Together on this journey, we grow...
Sara Mar 2020
I’ve been on this earth
at least once before;
so I just spend my time searching
for the keys to my own soul.
aye savor the faire genetic blueprint
   extant unique to each of us
   with this quite alimentary aire
   including (that almighty,
   bottom, cushiony, dimpled,

   excretory functioning Gluteus Maximus
   i.e. the ***** when bare  
with subtle difference sans,
   both halves at first blush,
   but tucks upon closer scrutiny

   obvious inexactness crystal clear
as a bell jar, asper each body electric,
   whence deserved of en dear
ments despite however much junk in the trunk

   behind the private
   no trespassing (non verbalized)
   signs posted everywhere
off limits only to a select few like this bard
   attired as if from the Renaissance Faire
whose unconditional acceptance
   unlike the majority hoo gawk and glare

if bipedal hominid dealt
   chromosomal traits say with excessive hair
which mane of tangled strands,
   could be problematic and interfere
with coaxing, finagling,
   or inducing friendship with an initial jeer

from him or her averse
   toward such imperfection to boot
huff lawed physical human specimen
   such as this ole coot
(who haint really that old),  

   can upon command execute
a feigned display
   and appealing as fresh field picked fruit
at this stage of ma life
   donut give a rats ***, nor an owlish hoot

what other may decry about me,
cuz self acceptance doth agree
buzzing with greater confidence, esteem,
   and general weaknesses such
   as lack of physiognomy incongruent cee,

which asymmetry of this primate feel free
er than his pre/post pubescent
   corporeal essence he
near put himself in the hand
   of that grim reaper, a key
poor of lifeless beings,

   and well nigh got hold da mee
when in the throes up
   (vis a vis not bulimia) on Swiss side prithee
and as a solitary mwm gives no re
guard no matter others may find fault
   in the stars at my lack of sim mutt tree
gnome hatter judgements made
   I accept mice elf warts and all – yippee!
they want to strip me of my selfhood
They want me to talk like them,
write like them and even snore like them

It may be the norm for some folks,
no disrespect but not me
I cannot accept the script they wrote for me
I write my own story and despite what they
may think of me; I owe them no apology

And whether they like it or not,
I will still be like this tomorrow
and if I die, at least I have given them
something peculiar to remember me with

© Matthias Pantaleon
scar Jun 2015
i loved you
with everything that i was, but
that was the problem:
there was nothing of me left
to be my self.
scar Jun 2015
every other time
i have defined myself by aiming at what i want to be
and then moving towards that.
i have sketched definitions in murky biro
on rumpled pages of my notebooks
and then taken my aim.
i have written long-winded histories
describing the stories i want to unfold
the way i would want others to speak
as they told the story of how i was when i walked in.
i have used evocative words:
"creator" "badass" "gypsy"
to describe what i am, in some cases -
my race and the race
that i run, but also
the way that i want to be, and the navigation of
the path that i want to find.
but now there is no defining
no definition will do
because this is not me sculpting myself again
out of lumps of clay that i pushed back last time
and now am causing to reform.
i'm not even made of clay anymore;
i am not malleable, but stripped raw -
pulled down to the most basic of essences,
and yet i do not know
what that is.
perhaps in time i'll find out,
but for the moment
i don't even know how to try.

— The End —