MakeShift Mind

on the spot

I am not my Mother's daughter.

I am not the son of Adam.

I am the heir of all Creation, the gentle spur of a whirring engine.

I cannot be placed, cannot be laced by your attributes.

I am One, United, a union of atrophy; a kingdom fallen.

Falling.

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There is so much more to me than you'll ever have time to know.

Once you enter my circle of thought, in a few days time, you'll be gone again... still a clueless fool.

Assuming assumption too good for me, too good for you.

That is the life you wish you had.

I've had so many, I can't go back; fearful of the consequences that might come if I had.

I hold Pandora's box, steady in the palm of my hand.

I try my best to understand.

There is a lock, there is no key; I wonder what's inside for me.

I stare in the hole...

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I am not my Mother's daughter, not really.

I am not the son, but the daughter, of Adam.

I apologize for speaking in riddles and thinking in mazes; I can't help it.

Poetry is my stress reliever.

I can leave all my things in zig zag pattern, just to trip you up.

You'll never know.