poetry, trails of thought

I am.

Sometimes, it takes just a little while cruel,

a while to realise just so clear, that

whilst choose we can

what we really don’t want, what we

really do want may always be

outside our fleeting grasp.

 

But it’s the coolest thing,

even so, dear C,

for me to manage this gentle absenting of self,

at least from the bad which once

made me sad.

And although I would’ve much preferred

 

to have and hold you close,

and although I would’ve much preferred

to win you uttered and sound,

and then proclaimed, quite out loud, the

truth of my being and doing and seeing,

if the price of my conformity

 

is a final shroud upon my honesty,

let me ease myself slowly

to the telling of lies,

and learn ever so gradual

to be unfaithful in thought and word

to this curious self I finally have become.

 

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