I don’t break all at once,
I erode into dust,
sands of insanity
carve sandstone sculptures (oh so pretty),
dear dysmorphia,
I might sculpt out an arch of rock one day
something you’d appreciate enough
to build a fancy park around,
but where’s the threshold
from “lump of rock”
to “beautiful nature,”
I guess the dysphoria
or euphoria
of it all’s in the eye of the holder
eye of the storm,
I found peace
then lost it all,
in my dreams I find
my primal fears
and this time
it was
that I could see clearly for once (no
dysmorphic distortion)
but I didn’t like
what I saw (dysphoric
jealousy),
so I called the winds of time
to make me a little more
insane,
warp my sight,
change what I saw
about who I was,
like I could make myself both
blend in with the valley of meteorites
to escape scathes of scorn,
and stand up on my own two feet
so the storm and the eyes might love me,
but it was only in my mind
—
and the winds and dust replied,
we have no control
over any pantheon of gods
but the ones
knockin’ in your noggin’
and the insanity
of duality
cannot reach
out of a dream
and cast its spell
on reality
—
and I said,
I know;
I just wish
we all could
be something else,
like raindrops
with no gaze
to judge the rocks,
so we just
glaze the stones,
slick the winds,
and exist
like that
and are
happy.
***
find my 1st book at this link
find my 2nd book at this super different link (…they’re not that different, they’re both Amazon pages)
Jordyn Saelor 