17 October 2009
My eyes are open today. I see
how fruitless are the hours spent worrying
about a form and substance you adore.
These conversations never cease behind the eyes,
laughing or weeping. They never cease.
I hear the fretting accusations,
the whispers of starvation. I hear them,
but they grow quieter with time. Or perhaps
I build a wall inside my head, beyond which
their power diminishes--
I am, without fear, who I am.