Adrian Borda
A misplaced word or deed
Could render your heart askance
And I would be the lesser for it.
Some believe in finality
But with age comes the routine
Of a diminished certainty
I know now why the sky
Prefers grey in adornment
I depend on the wind
To gather my illusions
And on my will to disperse them
A will that is neither
Brave nor merciful
A will that is erratic at best
I could be is all
That I have ever been
And I imagine you too
Are not as decreed on paper
Such dreams as these
Are too cruel to gift
In conversation
So it is that I keep
My wings folded beneath
A cloak of indifference
Pity me neither this oversight
Nor any concession I might make
In a moment too poignant to bare.
I have not lived in such a way
As to become known or wealthy
What I want is surely too
Abstract to elucidate.
Just as love is not assumed
Congenital in a blade of grass
No matter how sweet or vibrant
(We do not perceive in it a spirit
Beyond the mediocre triumph
Of ritualistic sustainment)
In this very way I too may be
Underestimated for my failure
To conform to assumed variables
If I indulge, I would no doubt
Spend entire days justifying
My queer existential existence
If you had my life to govern
You would ruin it
Like a linen starched until
It serves only as the parchment
Of a more prolific sentient
I do not not propose to know
Everything and indeed I claim
Very little in regards to you
Still I know better myself
My flaws effect me directly
As do my fears and virtues
And I assure you that
Their language is one only I
Can hear no matter how often
Our tongues or talons meet
*
Another BBQ I know what your thinking that girl has issues. I just typed up my journal scribbles from today
mindlovemisery 