...

A new thing

Becoming someone else

Contorting to what I want

Something simple I once was.

I am.

I want.

I fragment my wholeness

and observe the broken for tips.

I learn and forget.

One more drop in the bucket

to becoming what I never wanted.

Looking ahead

I see, and admire,

and I become only to my dismay.

Not that the grass looks any less greener,

rather I am exactly what I wanted.

Who gave man this power?

Isn’t it far too much decision,

to get what we want?

I am what I sought after,

a fragment so beautiful,

a well contrived expression.

Here's to you,

my chameleon voice.