Morph[ing]

Morphing

I don’t know how or into what I just know that I am

And as sure as I know primary, secondary, & tertiary colors exist I understand that there’s layers to this shift

Sometimes I’m green mixed with yellow

And the shade or hue of my blue isn’t as important as the memory of how it feels to remember I’ve been here before

And that this time around part of my journey is to reach the end of masochism and become acquainted with the release in death

I’ve spent many moons complaining of headaches only to realize that the pain came from me repeatedly banging my head against walls

See, I run into the limitations and conditions of people, society, and ultimately this realm & it leaves me blue

Add some splashes, nah some dashes of red, and throw in some other colors

It becomes this mural, which in my mind might be likened to Jean-Michel Basquiat’s 1983 piece, "In This Case"

The caption?

“You can’t hold me.”

The reality of that has left me somewhere between heavy & free

See I've realized I wasn't sent here to be held, but to seep

Through every crack, crevice, and patch of seeming emptiness

But, the frustration in this is I adapted to equating being held to being loved

I've since learned that this kind of love isn't the only way

I became an accomplice in my own subjection fighting against my own flow

To be held, seen, contained in the binaries gifted at birth when my time here is to be spent fluidly

Morphing

I don’t know how or into what I just know that I am

No set destination or course in sight

And before that used to bug me

But right now it's my solace

And that's more than enough