Someone Asked Me About Myself

There is no better dessert than apple pie,

yet cherries over apples on any day.

I can construct a genius mathematician from hair color to thoughts,

but must intensely research the innate knowledge of my creation.

I despise others when they take the easy way out,

yet often find a reason for myself to escape my own judgement.

Virtual storms on an island of fantasy excite me to no end,

but the storm happening currently on my own island just makes my sleepiness proliferate.

A sweatshirt comes with me anywhere I go,

yet a winter jacket is reserved for only when frostbite is otherwise inevitable.

I mourn the death of a fictional dog that I’ve only known for roughly an hour and a half,

but don’t shed a tear for the distant slaughtering of strangers in the news.

The mystery of what could be behind a mask leaves me in awe—how badass,

yet heaven forfend I ever wear one myself after the end of this pestilence.

I feel indifference when I shatter my favorite mug,

but curse at the time wasted picking up the shards.

Sometimes no matter how hard you may persist

a poem is exactly the

flowerful words that

it appears to be.

What you think you find is

nothing more than a better perspective of

your own mind—

Do I really think this is what he means?

And poems like that

are blessed in their complexity.