Hopes on delay, 
pending displays of “should be” 
as I lay in waiting for self-realization.  
Swimming through nations of constructs, 
contemplating my currents, rationalizing my pasts; 
knowing neither lasts beyond this phase. 
Restive nights and diverting days pave 
rabbit trails to steal my gaze down other avenues. 
Holding reins to the good news, sometimes I 
remember to breathe a little softer… search 
a little deeper, beyond this perch among the flesh. 
Wretch is my name, but my fingerprint is holy. 
Wholly divine – my aim – when focus rises. 
Surviving disguises life’s truest form with 
satiated dreams of societal norms… no,   
not misinformed, but misaligned at times. 
There’s no track to get back on when   
living’s free because love is fluid, and 
the hand which feeds me needs me to 
wander into being, beseeches that I 
ponder into seeing, requires in each 
moment of receiving that I give a 
quiet thought to the question,   
“Am I who I want to be?”