Updated: Apr 9

imagining chaos

infinitely worse than my window’s view

objective observation

mind’s eye cannot help

but be overrun with pigments

of fear and insecurity

the lens obscured

perhaps so far as obstructed



devoid of light

devoid of life

imagining chaos

devoid of humanity’s heart’s


the author of my life

a puppeteer?

a silver lining, a whispered graze

across the temple

suggesting direction.

or do I know better

than I know?

do I gently shift myself

and give grace

when that shift gets shadowed

falling unnoticed in the

magnetism of human imperfections --

the fears the doubts the egos

the heavy weights of

misinformed decisions?

or do the Puppeteer and I

exist in tandem

loving my every move as only they can?

will I ever learn to love my actions



as they do? Do I carry

with me

the capacity

of this grace

as I am in form in body?

did I gift myself this


in this time?

written fragments of soul

thoughts crowded into lines of ink

do i misinterpret

or glean the necessities,

mirroring truth

or cherry-picking it?

no one knows me better than myself

right now

at one point

you knew me better than the stars

we rediscovered that

only to whisk away

prisoner to time space circumstance

and choice