by Aaron Blair
If I'd sprung, fully formed, from your head,
maybe then I would know who I am.
My compass would spin and then point,
and I'd step forward, sure of my direction,
free of the world's conspiracy to break us
while we grow, while we're powerless and small.
Now, I look inside of myself and all I find is pieces.
They don't speak. They don't mean a thing.
They're facetless. They don't reflect the light.
I'm searching the long and quiet dark for something.
I'm pretending I don't know there's nothing there to find.
Posted on 07/02/2008
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