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"A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of all creatures." The Picture of Dorian Gray

Sunday, September 26, 2010

day seventy-one: my own me.

my own me
who is that
exactly?
i've never seen
that megan before.
does she live around here?
must be from up north...
or maybe west
maybe she's out there
in the desert sands
being happy herself
and hiding from this
insanely sad world...
or maybe she's not even
from this planet
maybe she's on mars
being happy alone
finding joy in alienation...
where do you think she is?
i think there's a slight chance
that she's just buried
under all this pressure
and worry
and that she's inside me
i know she is
and she's busting out
so watch out
because you might not like
to see her smile
i hear it breaks hearts-
that truly happy smile.

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