Off

I will never be the control

in this experiment.

I will be the reaction

but never meet the creator.

It will fail.

My face cannot say who I am.

It will never show

what I know

to be true.

If it did it wouldn’t fit right.

 

One small crack on the veneer of the

eggshell that I am

can send me spiraling

down.

I don’t tell anyone.

I try to see the method

that others use.

It’s a different language

and I can’t count on

them.

 

More dependent than I could ever admit,

I pretend my own roots are enough

to stand through surrounding decay

and it’s always maybe,

maybe they are

but maybe I need you today.

 

It’s not to say

I don’t want to be part of the process

but I can’t participate

when I’d rather notate

all the invisible parts of me

slide off the rails.

It’s not about process,

it’s about function

and I can work,

if you help.

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