I exist in the voices,
in sounds-
gentle, ricocheting against
the loud bass in the background
and speaking in hushed tones
in corridors where the tiles
are no longer bleached white.
I exist in that TV volume, defined
by the bars that identify the
intensity of my intent,
exist in the grrr grr grinding
of thoughts into an unpalatable
mush, that I got served for
dinner,
I am defined by the water striking
the s(k)in(k) surface, I am that
you no longer pay attention to, Continue reading
tumbling down, to the bottom of the hollow,
where nothing is such that can distract
me, finding myself surrounded by
my many sides: polar, dual, multilingual,
.
I meet up, with all my fragments at once,
so many, diverse, contradicting, insane,
and I discern, how complicated I am,
the whole lot I do, comes from them
.
acting it out for me, all these different traits,
dwelling in the same flesh, blood and bones,
combating for and against each other,
in a conflict of their impeccability and worth,
.
wanting to be an effective voice in my deeds,
I can not sprint away from them, from
these apparitions brought up within me,
sustaining inside me, being a part of me,
.
something I could do is assemble them,
into a single piece: befuddled, messed up,
ridiculous, dumb, strangled by the knots
of the properties tied of each into a bundle,
.
or I could arrange them in a queue,
beckoning the one I need at a moment,
restraining others, by my craft, from disrupting,
and invading the progressions of my mind,
.
but I doubt it would work out, for I am but
a slave to my instincts, and not the ruler,
and that is why it happens, that I get entombed
into doubts, fighting off with my identity, with myself
.
Well, this is the poem for 5 November for NaBloPoMo. I have also joined up with Rarasaur‘s team, Nano Poblano, as I venture into posting thirty poems in thirty days.
Also, I am linking it up with the Trifecta challenge, where we have been asked to use the word, craft, referring to the skill in deceiving to gain an end.
HA's Place 