White paper and a pen
wish for me,
on a birthday of many returns
passed, yet to come.
So a thought I will,
and a thought
I may, descend
into self,
my self-maintained, renewed self,
my pattern of self.
Together and with,
I feel out
an infinite creativity,
I do now
experience my stability.

Ever change,
never never.
Am.
I am dependent,
Yet I am identified.

One in once.
Always a memory,
always a surprise.

Scenes change,
familiar feelings.
Known to life,
stranger to my own.
Allowed to feel all,
but not my own.
Hold on
known stranger, hold on.
I hold on to my breath.
I hold on.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.