Archive ⋙ Poetry
crisp window squeaking over, unbarrier from air
letting in the cries of crickets, early morning fair
a strange sense of healing, repressed feelings from three years hence
baby torn from mother's womb, strange perdition ever since
why would anyone fetishize the loss of identity
that comes from being absorbed into the Trinity?
for I stare into neverending auburn and gray skies
and wonder how, in Nature's face, anyone could fall for God's lies
almost a year ago, undone from the myth
of needing a colective to dissolve oneself with
for what is the use of becoming free
if I forfeit myself, subsumed by the we?
Call me a coward, but I declare myself unfettered,
a tactical retreat to make myself even better.