the discovery, the rise, the fall
the fall, so steep, so black, so surprising
sliding on your skeleton
carrying your deserved cross
yourself, you, as in-
you, as in yourself
just you, yourself?
if experiences contribute,
mistakes, joy, humor, failure, desire,
those things you've taken
and those things that have taken you
all under some wide, ever-opened umbrella
called personality, or identity, or
what separates you from her or him
your body, your genes,
what color is it, the umbrella?
do you know? does anyone?
molding your own face from day one
just a blank space where a label is to be later put?
present yourself in one light-
just one, one attempted image
but everyone has glasses, each tinted a different color
so how could it possibly matter?
that origional color?
then there's that one guy, that one girl,
that one fluorescent being who
possibly, maybe, probably not,
but possibly might see that origional color
that first coat of wax before you turned brown
but then- wait.
that's a lie
a lie you created and presented
assembled, painted, finished, tied up with a pretty shiny silver bow
and the whole thing's worthless, pointless, pathetic
so go ahead, paint yourself red
black or blue
so nothing at all
matters at all
just sit there, you
you kid, you thief
you pretty little liar
you beautifully hideous, shapeless lump of wax
that they all created
you clueless, pointless, straw-filled expressionless doll
sitting there writing
an empty convoluted poem about
some abstract war waged invisibly
so damn often