Here you are: solve for x where x is who you are,

what you need, what you want, what to do,

what to change, a Self, many selves, one sensitive child

trapped in a maze of proclivities. You always were good at

maths. You try to move on from equations + the mind surges

too quickly + the heart crashes too hard +

both inhabit the caging mechanism of your body +

it isn’t harmonious.

Body as an extreme / as a machine / as a ship thrown

against the rocks / Fragile vulnerable creature needing to be

cradled / Resentment / Drowning / Taxidermy / How far can you test

its limits? / You wish you could grow wings / escape yourself. 
Why always write about flight?

Some might call it naïve       , running away

from reality like that. Others might call it

necessary. Shouldn’t you blame       fate, or

circumstance? Guilt isn’t all or nothing,

you know.                          (nothing is)

Anyway, the whole process

is enough       to make anybody

lose track. Chase the wind.
A free fall is exhilarating — but gravity will always

win. Sorry,  you say. It’s just that I wanted to be better

in every sense of the word. 
You, as in me. I’m sorry

for lying. Especially that.

Maybe next time.