ⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗⁱᵗʸ

Nervous excitation keeps me propelled toward some ambiguous castle

Where my dreams, the mediocre and the grandeur, wait to fruition

Micromanaging my dopamine, pills and exercise and redirection

I feel my skin and psychic body itch to reveal a potential.

Inhibited by millions of seconds of private self-flagellation

Ive always favored those whose confidence warrants a diagnosis

Charm and glibness, manic and audacious

Attracted to my difference

This grandiosity inspires me against constant evaluation

this atrophying in my muscles and spirit pacify action

I want to feel heard and seen, but I don’t know what it is I mean to share

If I was asked to define myself, I inevitably describe a paradox

Defining anyone is always relative to others, to time, to circumstance

Yet we spend our whole lives in this pursuit of identity

I can feel that my psychic body is a part of the flesh one, through invisible mesentry

if I had the scalpel capable, I'd be tempted to cut the connections