Thank God, You Are Not My Girlfriend, or Wife ~ Saturday, May 24, 2025

Poetry is process, how we process
old wounds, fresh wounds, battle scars, emotions
energy in language as words transfers
trauma into ashes, so we progress
realistically beyond shame and blame
yet, we live oceans apart, as oceans

inhabit our worldview as metaphors
separating as individuals

perhaps the biggest lie, a conscious game
resulting in disparity, nonsense
objectively a fact of property
case in point, what you own owns you, the fence
entirely proverbial, you see
simultaneously as real, as schools
send students out into the world to change

how we understand reality, shift
others to conceive the plasma of air
walk through the world, the senses soon derange

walk to the bakery, to stand in line
everyone experiences the rift

perceived as a separateness, we share
reality confirms mind in body
objections to the rule, how we define
consciousness as multiple and not one
every time someone cuts in line, we ask
someone we do not know, sorry, the sun
somehow blocked my vision, is this a mask

obligatory, attain Samādhi
little, older, fat, white woman, your choice
defense mechanisms enhance your voice