London Poem: Day 269

13 May

Spinning words delicately
Into massive yarns, to
Impress upon others that
I am more than I am.
It is the endless
The casual lie,
To play the part of who
I have become, more than just here,
But indefinitely.
It’s not me.
Ask a question, I’ll give a name,
A puzzled look,
Me to you, and back.
I’ve made it up, but
The question is:
Am I caught?
For either me or you,
Grace be the soul
Who accepts defeat.


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