reverie

I am so removed from
the place where I began,
even if I cant say
where place that is,
exactly.

Each night’s repose is birth,
with all its pain and all its
creation.

With every small
day and night,
I feel as though
starting over is eminent.
The day and the sleep
are always only
temporary.

A life in which
I was just living.
The breathing and
the speaking.
No birth,
no death.
Just alive.

….not perceiving
understanding.

Now, life is new and painful,
as though I am waiting
for sustenance from outside
in perpetuum.

But I am the only nourisher.

I am the only giver
of nutrients,
of secrets.
of love.

If I do not give to myself,
I willl be empty
so significantly;
as though I were skin only.
No vitality,
no beating pulse.
no heavy breath.

Alone, I am responsible
for this encasing;
the things it protects.

There is a difference between
fragile and broken.

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Categories: Poetry

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