By Nicole Allen
Hopes on delay,
pending displays of “should be”…
as I lay in waiting for self-realization.
Swimming through nations of constructs,
contemplating my currents, rationalizing my pasts;
knowing neither lasts beyond this phase.
Restive nights and diverting days pave
rabbit trails to steal my gaze down other avenues.
Holding reins to the good news, sometimes I
remember to breathe a little softer… search
a little deeper, beyond this perch among the flesh.
Wretch is my name, but my fingerprint is holy.
Wholly divine – my aim – when focus rises.
Surviving disguises life’s truest form with
satiated dreams of societal norms… no,
not misinformed, but misaligned at times.
There’s no track to get back on when
living’s free… because love is fluid, and
the hand which feeds me needs me to
wander into being, beseeches that I
ponder into seeing, requires in each
moment of receiving that I give a
quiet thought to the question,
“Am I who I want to be?”