Friday, April 02, 2010

For my son

I know
he's out there,
on that
same fringe.

I think
he's struggling
to understand
it all too
impossibly well,
in his own
struggling way.

He doesn't
know that
I understand
it,
the things that
it's not fair
that he
already
ought to.

It's a blessing
and a curse,
this life
of precise
self-actualization.

This cumulative average
and output
of self-imposed
deprivation.

Isolation.

A partition
in your head
between you
and them.

Self-preservation
from the ability
to feel keenly,
too much,
and
beautifully,
everything.

3 comments:

Saladman said...

This poem is so full, yet so empty. It reflects something that I too have experienced, and poignantly so.
Thank you for taking a stab at something so ethereal. It speaks to me about things that are hard to feel, yet even harder to express.

That Other Girl said...

I love the observation about self-preservation and the dangerous, thrilling adventure of feeling too much.

That Other Girl said...

Beautiful depiction of self-preservation and complete surrender to feelings.