Little Miss Homo Sapien's Cave


The feather shot the breeze

By the slightest consciousness;

It incurred the wrath

Of tornado in Galapagos,

The vitality of the phoenix

Out of the ribs of Wasteland.

In the wake of daydreams,

I find myself in between

Teetering on the tightrope

Of the Distinct,

Balancing my way through

The fog of instincts.

I am inside a body

That won’t budge

To the roosters’ crowing

My eyes are merely moving

Rapidly, so that my will’s stiff

To the bodyclock alarming.

Deep undersea,

Can’t fathom the shrapnels

Of sunshine that cuts through

The current of perceived sanity

The blur mistakes

The need for want,

So that my lungs fill up

With no helping hands

To pump the brine out.

A powerstruggle begins

Between what’s within

And What’s crawling on the skin–

Pushing my shadow beyond the limit

Like a boulder off the cliff

For the spirit to finally arise

Above my imposed Identity.


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