I Become A Little of Each...

Did you know what you feel to be,
No matter how momentary it is,
Is in fact real?
Did you know?
That which you feel to be,
Eventually becomes you.

I write in a mad state,
Sensing my soul being engulfed by madness,
And at that split moment,
I feel like one – a mad woman,
And as I write like one,
I become one.

I despise all that’s around me,
In all anger – I become my anger,
The subject, the cause and the effect,
That I feel at that moment – that anger,
That alone becomes real,
That anger alone becomes me.

I love like I’ve never loved before,
I float amidst heaven I never knew to exist,
and at that moment –
that love appears real,
the most real it has ever been.
And I become the love, the loved, the loving.

A woman of multitudes I am.
I am but a little of all that’s around me –
the good, the bad, the divine, the disgusting.
So much of each –
That I sometimes wonder which is which
And which eventually becomes me.

Wherein lies my true being.
Wherein lies my truth.
Wherein lies me - within my multitudes.

Scribbles

Life is but a scribble of unconscious plan.
While living it,
You grab a pen
(that being your mind),
And you scribble away on any piece of paper that you find
(that being your life).
You chart a course that looks uncannily real,
You scribble a path that you alone know to be real,
You link them both - the course and the path,
And lo - you have before you,
Your life in your hands.
As you scribbled it to be -
a scribble of unconscious plan.