On my way to this place
what were some traits that I missed
recognizing as my own things?
I can't separate my own from your things.
That's always been my great undoing.
I lose control of my self so quickly.
Once looking like a dove, I become
oil slick and grounded in a swamp,
where the flighty thing becomes a being
made up of the rant and the cry and the yell,
*****, not as a state, but as the state of things.
I can't separate my own from your things.
Now I'm alone. I'm alone. And I feel.
This bird's alone for the first time.
On my way to this place, I've hurt
and I've caused big hurt. Now I'm free to see
through these eyes, all alone.
Now I'm alone. I'm alone. And I feel
Like myself. Purified.