• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 12

Cups of other References

I come out empty, as most people do,
and fill my cup with a concoction to awe
even the boldest apothecaries
in its complexity of ingredients and lack
of regard towards flavour

I come out unswathed, as most people do,
and knit a self using loose threads
pulled from everything around me
with clumsy baby fingers
that latch tightly to anything that comes close

I come out blank, as most people do,
and fill each page as I go, ignoring plot holes
and contradictions, only concerned for the
open page, remembering nothing of those
passed to bring cohesion to those to come

I come out quiet, as most people do,
and learn my concierto by listening to
countless others, adapting their motifs
to be played by my own instrument,
crescendoing to a cacophony I’m unsure
will receive applause when it ends

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Cups of other References

I come out as nothing, as most people do,
and fail to put myself together.
A potion
a blanket
a book
an opera
all unfinished, all unrefined, all competing
with each other for the next snap of attention,
pieces of different puzzles that I try to force together
because I am nothing if I don’t carry with me
everyone I’ve ever met.

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