Shift

My mind revs up full speed at intersections,
and every day is from a different life design,
no continuity, no breaks, no preset lines,
as if I’m thrust into the heart of Time,
with arrows going out in all directions.

It could be good this unfamiliar realm,
this odd 'here' that I poke and pokes me back,
that is impossible to be, and yet it’s not,
where one can’t tell reality from thought,
or fantasy from time.

If I can’t tell whether I’m you or me,
then maybe we were always just one whole,
this one thing that was never me at all,
unless I’m wedded to the whole wide world,
and that is what it means for me to be.

I’m different and the same, dead and alive,
and old components of my life feel off,
like they’ve been placed by strangers on my path,
but they’re not me, they’re not what I’m about,
and I can only tell what I am not.

I love the freedom to express my thought
without the duty to explain its craft,
which makes no sense, defies logical paths,
but when the walks of life appear so tight
it’s easy to forget that they are not.

While I was slow to grasp the rhythm I tuned in
my life as always took me to the mat,
and I’m not sure when changes came about,
or, mercy me, if I was born like that,
but I can tell that I’m no longer human.