DONT laugh at me. Today was a thinking day for me, continued from last night. Call it after effects of a night,are, call it hormones, fatigue, stress, whatever you will. nyah. I think I shall atick to writing prose from now on, or at least after this one anyway.
I am not a student
students study and get straight A's
or skip school to smoke in void decks
I doodle at my desk, scribbling,
delighting the english faculty
math,however, is another matter
I will never be a dancer
I cannot control my limbs enough
to even walk without stumbling,
much less jump and run in time
I fail miserably at attempts
to be an intellectual. I can count,
but not to infinity. And ,
what does that sign mean again?
subset or something. Maybe subtract?
I will never find it in me to be a philosopher
seeing the ocean in a drop of water,
lines running parallel across
our tiny expanse of universe.
I am no scientist,
my mind will not bear the intricacies of formulae and chemistry,
it is too disorganised and messy as a child's room:
things wanted always buried or lost
I am not a teacher
I used to think I knew so much, but that was before
a lifetime ago. Now I learn more than I can know
I have long given up being a singer
my words refuse to trip along to a tune
and my voice is too soft, fragile, afraid
to soar beyond the white walls of my room, to the heavens outside
I am no poet
the syllables do not obey me,
they tumble as they will across the page, refugees running,
running from the great white eraser,
clinging to their existence and refusing to meet, or even obey
the will of their maker
I will never be labelled an artist
my paintings never look as they should,
like taking photographs of naughty children:
they are themselves, but what would others think?
I am, not a person
people have skins, which contain blood and bone
muscle and sinew and a beating, breathing, beating heart
I have a skin too
but I unzip it at night and fly
out, out, where there is nobody
to tell me what I am, or what I must be
I am human
simple as it should be.
