To walk on this earth where everybody else is just everybody else and I walk inside my half bubble perfumed with your honey like saliva on my skin, your powerful waving. To grow gardens plowed in my mouth. To be the privileged proud man who meets his future reaching out for your half to make us whole. I go to bed with this knowing we shall have what we don’t, yet. Some future, always having more to look for.
Some might think I’m the ashamed one. I say, I’m forever uncomfortable being amongst human beings and being one of them. The sense of we, wearisome as it is, throws me out of mankind. I’m forever comfortable being flawed and all knowing of my limits and aiming being limitless out of proportion. I’d be a newborn, a bound angel, a necromancer, drinking my own blood to understand you better, halfway, closer to outter realities, relaxing my shoulders because the war I fight against myself is half won.
I lack humanity. I lack divinity. I lack corrodent bile. I wouldn’t wish for wings or levitation. I wouldn’t pray. I wouldn’t curse or kill. I wouldn’t allow being manipulated by feelings of redemption or guilt.
I’ve been given the ability of loving your mind, loving your body, being madly devoted and yet sanely certain of my devotion, for all fevers pass with but consumed vitality; and I’ve been given the ability to choose. I’ll always choose growing, building layers of time and wisdom like a mountain, bountiful waterfalls down to the valleys I’m pouring, my breath fresh air, shielding dense woods; I choose being grander towards you, with you, with your hand write your name on our land. Our land exists. I’m not me, I’m not human, I’m not without, I’m not defined, I’m not out. With you I’m together, we’re closer to touch the whole. Together our land has been found. We’ve opened the gates not with blood obscutity, but with innocence and hope.
I bear my spirit ready and uncloacked, bare, disquieted, hopeful.