I am but a mere quirk in the face of billions, shifting my way down on a path that shall leave me dispersed.

 

 

Times have shaped the outline of my brain, leaving me so estranged from the me of the past,

For she had come and gone so fast,

I am the girl who lifted herself up from shattered knees – literally and metaphorically,

Internally chanting, “There is not a mere second for pain, when prospering is my aim!”

 

In my depths I divulge, a guilty conquest, I will indulge,

Is it that of prince, you will say?

No my dear, I say nay,

This conquest, you see, is constructed in a way, that only a scholar could articulate,

For my indulgence derives from feverous nights, that always leave me bright eyed.

From wee hours of the morning, I can range from marginal propensity to displacement of density.

 

For now I am, defined as me, yet the future is reconstructing,

Who am? I know myself as you do me,

We are all but a mystery,

Set in time, we are never truly defined,  

You could search your soul and you would see,

You are not who you used to be – there is simply no deducting.

For now I shall say, I am who I am, thriving off of ingenuity,

Forever heightening my sense of congruity.