Sunday, October 18, 2009

But when can I?

The things I'm made of now, like
a draw towards the aesthetic, a
tugging for something real yet vague and
undefined,
it has my name written on it, it was
in my dna, my blood
22 years now it's been waiting but I
haven't manifested its
ism.

I haven't done it, I haven't
been
it.

I have to wait.
I can't die yet.

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