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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required [Quantum Superposition] "A particle can exist in multiple states or places simultaneously until measured." To my lover, I was first a beaming stranger, then a sunflower whose juice sustained him. To my mother, a nosy, buzzing fly, and a tangerine sunset she never fails to watch. To the world, perhaps a preying eagle, the wind—fearless as her wrath— the snow, too cold, too soft, too hard, yet anticipated. But to myself, a masterpiece, a soul swaying into the stem of a viper, whose teeth are yet to grow numb. This soul lives in the heart of my past lovers until they let go. I crave to be the painter and the builder, the ripper and the broken, until I find a gaze firm enough to heal me, one to silence these recurring chokes. My mind is a shattered portal, a hall of reflections where my past selves undress in mirrors of confusion, their shadows circling until I find them. Trees scattered across the earth, seas jogging through unjust valleys. Like how my dreams unfold their decaying wings on the knees of my present, while faithfully weaving her trauma craftsmanship into the cardigan of my future, and her shaky feet swinging through the cemetery, my past once lived, all assembling in my mind and yours. I heard a girl say, "I have found my sadness in your palm, my tears pooling in your eyes— like mother, discovering my smile in yours until a name cuts the trick, because we share a face." I hear the claws of my emotions, a feral heir demanding my attention and that of my neighbour. But, I wake first from my dreams, before I escape the weight of my bed. I have lived a night before my morning. I hope you see how Sorrow grips the tongues of children— separated by geography, bonded by death and fate— losing parents to battles locked in casualties of greed, long before they were born. Today, I scoff at the call of my father, the creator of my ivory pain, the sole of my cloying muse— a song I refuse to sing, though its lyrics are buried in my throat. Now, I am laid among lavender and lilies, waiting to bloom into a garden. Every choice I’ve made was once a thought tied to an unconscious root before it found a name. Every battle began as a quest, shared as vision, purpose, and then victory. I have seen joy kiss the faces of too many shores at once, until pain came knocking. In this reality, I am an author, an impersonator, an artist, a preacher. A body thrown to the earth, a spirit floating in hidden realms, a soul waiting to be found again— to live forever.
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