The happier I am, the worse my poetry is.

I am not the testosterone in my body.
I am not the life in my veins – I am not its lack
in the surrounding air.

I am not an image,
I am not thread.
Interconnected or woven,
I am not a marionette.

I am a slow and silent victory.
I am not what I once was.
I am nothing, I stand nowhere-
I am content with being lost.

Alternately, my bliss matters not
for all that matters to the heart
is a continuance, and that,
is exactly what I am.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s