s t a t i c

populous city
summer heat gloating
these isolated nights poison
anxious residents
all strangers to their neighbours

squared away
bedded
they coil about their trusted genitalia
despising



c o w e r

wolf ,
          could you even go stalking in the woods ?
                 you'd get blisters
                            breaking in pricy footwear
          that smart suit ?
                             ridiculous ;     covering your fur
           you've become cowed by your domesticated soul

there was
one version
of you
who wanted
a version of me;
it was only ever
in moments
like the one where
you let me invade your
dreams,
the same way you wriggled your way deep into
my subconscious thoughts. there was
one version of you
who wanted a version of me
~but not the way that i wanted you to~

was it how you made me laugh,
or how that laughter decimated
my sense of uncertainty
and lulled me into a temporary constant,
where,
in my ignorance,
a real version of me
fell into a faux version of you.

                     Who notices prepositions
                      unless they dangle

                      like earrings
                      begging the spotlight.

                      They act
                      like auditioning extras

                      or photo-bombers.



                       Of the people, for the people, by the people,

                       what does that even mean
                       when we, the people
                       are simply people

                       trying out humanity.



                       My nephew goes blah blah blah,    
                       which is cute and could
                       mean anything when
                       spoken randomly _ an 18-month old,

                       like prepositions
                       _  the people:

                       _ God, we trust.

Who am I?
I am whatever they want
me to be.
Which means I'm me,
but not me.
A different version of me.
That is what I am,
but not the version I want to be.

One. The "Church Me".
Two. The "School Me".
Three. The "Work Me".
Four. The "Home Me".
Five. The "Real Me". Who is She?
These are the versions of me.

It's so hard to stop the bleeding
together of the versions of me.
The "Church Me" would never
accept the "Real Me".
The "Work Me" would cancel out
the "School Me".
And the "Home Me",
just doesn't fit.

There's too many versions.
Too many.
I,
need to delete
the lies.
I need to
Delete, Delete, Delete, Delete
the versions of me.

Tell me.
What would happen if
one of the 'Me's' deleted was
The "Real Me"?

Who Would I Be?

And where were you lost...  
( It was the point where I went to far ahead..)
And where were you found..
( It was the point where I found you..)
So may strangers stare at my heaven..
( Not enough people I know..)
Underneath the waters where I drowned..
( Could ever guide me home..)
So I choose the direction toward the dark corners..
( I walk into the waters in the dark..)
And lose my footing yet again..
( What is up and what is down..)
Falling through free darkness..
(Panic assures me no right direction)
I finally see where light begins..
(I will swim till I drown)
Both of us are trapped here
(Both of us are trapped here)