Know ( )self

Intangible thing,
a belief in self —

how is it that you cannot hold it,
cannot wield it,
cannot shield yourself with it?

Because it cannot be grasped?
But in the hands of another,
it cuts deeply enough
that you bleed for days,
for weeks —

filled with a dread so ripe
you cannot help but open
to spread its seed far and wide.

The fruit is bitter, poisonous,
and all you allow yourself to eat,
save what you steal from others.

What emptiness lives inside
that you fill it only with what you take,
what you tear down,
what you ruin?

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.