I am childish in my deviance;
chaotic, but obvious.
I am all buttons and knobs,
exposed,
to any passing stranger’s whims.
I cannot let you in
or you will play around
and change
these precise adjustments
these delicate proportions
of love and greed,
lust and anger, joy and fear,
that function;
that, if nothing else, survive.
Cupid waits for me at the bottom of the garden.
He is less willful now.
The years have tamed him.
He asks for consent.
I shake my head, and choose Identity instead.
4 Comments
November 5, 2009 at 1:29 am
Going way back in my blog history [all the way to may, so an eternity
], I posted this: http://kalafudra.wordpress.com/2009/05/16/grundformen-der-angst-the-basic-forms-of-fear-fritz-riemann/
To analyse this poem here (I promise I won’t do that often), it obviously shows a fear of commitment since fully commiting to a person is always a threat to one’s own identity.
There, I said it. No judgment intended, just an observation.
Anyways. I like it. It also speaks to my fear of commitment (so much stronger than my fear of loneliness…).
November 5, 2009 at 9:46 am
(Well. Maybe drawn from personal experience. But they are not… very good representations.)
November 9, 2009 at 2:08 pm
Oh, I understand that it’s not necessarily personal experience. But I do believe that your writing says something about you. I just don’t know if I’m qualified to know what it is that it’s saying.
November 7, 2009 at 2:36 pm
[...] Jump to Comments (To this.)Maybe it’s because the setting is so familiar, which is a luxury I don’t usually have [...]