On the cusp, you
teeter between
hunger & true self.
Maybe not an addict
(though I remain unconvinced)
the craving inside
is the same that
drives the dope fiend,
shadowy, stunted, greedy.
Through the third eye
and in the swiftness of minor denials
I can still see who you were not so long ago,
Earning the title that makes you wince:
Selfish says spurned lover
mimicking daughter
inner voice
Still see the tormented introvert of an adolescent,
Shifty for survival, all zips and secrets,
Feeling rage, seeking numbness.
Still see the battered resignation of childhood
that makes of your skin
an ill-fitting suit.
This is what I believe, what I sense is true:
Today and with each step forward,
You are the fob at the end of a pocket watch chain
hypnotically swaying back & forth
weighted towards truth.
You are the diviner’s wooden rod, your
nose stretched uncomfortably before you,
pointing you in the right direction.
You don’t always start there.
Sometimes you miss your mark,
Yet eventually you come round right.
Flawed aim towards light.
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