12.24.09 / 6:31 pm

the time and space, the diligence
with which i've ceaselessly worked
to set myself apart;
the hearts and broken hearts,
the clouds, the fogs of memories,
the abrupt stops, the starts.
alone, i am still working,
always something of a man in progress,
remarkable only in my limbs and asymmetric parts.

and in my mind, i try to see futures,
to see the price of self-imposed perfection;
and sometimes, i see only the brightness
with which i want to shine,
a blinding light
in which i want to rest my own unsteady heart.