I Don't Know Who I Am

[ry0un0suke]

. . .

Yesterday, I woke up and wrote tired and uninspired. Debating, poem or life or both or my experience since then into now... no one will read it. Then I think of you of your efforts, your kindness and more and conflict stirs my soul. You...you... expressions of me adored and seen. Is it no bother? Fifty-six autumns, fifty-six turns, half a century and your dreams mine, visitor. Aspirations woven, lived. Mind so vast. I cannot... I-... and:

. . .

Sometimes I imagine what it might be like to wake up with a different name and body.

These images manifest as nightmares, binding ones that lust for all you are and leave you cold,

sweating and swearing off rest like it you had too many the night before and hate the way it makes you act.

I've fallen in love with an untrue figment of my being.

. . .
There have been days where I start to feel comfortable and confident and
the world's turn reminds me of why I should not.
I recall uncertainty the most.
Is resonate a better word?
Proclamations bold,
spoken in all too likelihood of wrong.
Confidence frightens me to my core and I feel better afraid because then,
at least, the outcome seems certain.
Heart eased on those eves where drowned hope would have suffocated me.
. . .

...I want nothing more than to push others away and wallow in my self hate.
Sometimes guilty, child of his,
child of Hers,
As if my words too direct at Her.
It is not You, mother, but every measure of who I am.
Never in questioning of it,
but how much I deserve it,
Your love onto me
when I made a terrible blunder.
Eternal, though,
even if the face of potential scorn.
How deeply will one love another
who struggles to love themself?
. . .
I have been wanting to ask you a daft question.
Thinking deeply on my name
and how the land responds to the setting sun and high moon's light.
How the heart resonates with its blocking of the moon,
an otherwise calamitic event
the poetry of my name.
Yours, too weighty,
too weighty as my own.
Beyond you,
where my heart lies.
They are not you,
and they are not me.
I am of you.
Dangerous eclipse before the meadow.

Will you ever see me ready?

Sincerely,
⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ