Poems

me: When stability is for the stables, are we ever really free? 

If I'm not the same as yesterday, am I ever really me?

If I'm not free to be unstable, and not stable enough to be me, can I ever be free?

Should I even want to be?
berstff27: My soul sings and dances

When that fiber of my essence

Jumps from K's to Q's and S'sIn a vibrating quintessence

Of reverbing words that please us

And resounding sounds that please me

Making joyful music motion

In a merry very flurried sense of self.

me: I write rhymes so that you'll meet me on the shore of the Sea

You and I, in between, my mind, it's pulling us away

Uncreative's what you call me, but that is not my name

And a man is what you see, but all these muscles are inane
berstff27: The last line seems out of place.

me: Inane seems like a good word for "useless"

Or, insignicant

berstff27: I just meant your talking about you and I and then you end with a man

me: Oh

I meant that all you see in me is a man

berstff27: Oh ok.