The POTW: Verse Til It Hurts
This started in the shower, as so many poems do. I was thinking about how my body constantly exchanges material with my environment, even when I'm just standing there doing nothing. And the exact moment when that material becomes some of me rather than some of something else, or vice versa, is not necessarily easy to pin down. So, out came another one of my identity poems. I've probably said something similar before, but identity is kind of a delusionally egotistical claim when we're basically loose, malleable concentrations of matter inside of a larger soup composed of more of the same matter. Like sand dunes in a desert. Oh, hey! I wasn't sure what to call this one, but now I think I know:
Little bits of carbon leave my body on my breath
Soon to be a part of me, the water in my drinking glass
I'm mostly water, but I drink and sweat and so it comes and goes
I have a sort of understanding what I mean when I say "me"
Ownership is fleeting, always claiming and divesting
Identity is tricky and it's fluid and it's hazy
Copyright © 2015 by Dave Grossman
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