I don't understand myself
have never...
truth be told, though it rarely is
(tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but...)
A small bird, with battered wings
trying so hard to be eagle
to soar....
I know most will tell you that they have come to terms
with their inner mechanisms, the gears, the drive, the lubricant
but I am so far afield of that
I'm only coming to know myself, you see
having so adeptly hidden
these workings that shift, drive, brake, speed!
Hell, I didn't want to look either
(click click click past the heinous show of why)
I told you I was broken
I told you I was abnormal
I told you of these dissociative disorders.
These I knew.
But they aren't attractive.
So a soft tell and a stong hide
was the best way to acceptance,
which was important, OHHHH SOOOOO.....
at a young age, but not so much, anymore.
If you could feel my intent...
if effort were a gauge you could see...
I think you'd be flabbergasted
at how much I can lift.
You'd look at the truck I'm lifting from your crushed heart
with two girlie biceps
and be thankful...(perhaps too strong a word)
appreciative that my adrenaline is in full gear
working, working, working
But effort drives a hard bargain
and hides it's agenda behind the bias of selfishness!
It is hidden and immeasurable
seemingly weak in comparison to results.
Oh bloody hell
I am trying
with the might of the hairy Samson,
of David with his slingshot...
I am fighting to know, with all I've got
but I wonder how many more
are fighting against.
.
.
.
