i carry my knowledge of myself on
my body and it is made of every
attempt to be regular, every argument
i ever had with my mom where i was
out of control, every empty feeling,
every memory with my siblings,
every frustration with my outer self,
and every good reason to continue
‘doing well’.
every moment where i couldnt control
my temper and let an ugly feeling control me.
knowing that i was wrong,
but not evil in the way that i
thought. my pride and
shame sit on either side of a
scale and equal to each other.
i always thought that there would be
a moment in which my physical
body would dissipate. my soul would
be released of knowledge, becoming
something simple and free.