Lately life has been
clambering
all around me.

My mind is less loud.

I structure sentences and dream of stories
where I am the main character,

I write nonfiction as fiction and pretend
everything is all right.

There is so much noise
it feels like a mass
individual noises combining
and hurling towards me.

This is the pressure
I press upon
myself.


What can or will I be.

Who am I now
that all of the things
I defined myself by
are gone.

So many questions that aren't questions
but answers.


Who am I now,
what will I be
now that all of the things
I defined myself by
are gone.

02/08/2011

Posted on 02/09/2011
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