subterfuge

I want you to know who I am.
But the I that I want you to know
Is a fabricated aspiration
That’s fooling nobody
But the other hidden I.
Only barely concealed,
In my own grimy shadow.

And you.

Always compliant.

Advertisements

Love Laws

“That it really began in the days when the Love Laws were made. The laws that lay down who should be loved, and how.

And how much.”
― Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

***

Where do I live?
Some place in my head.
Where am I from?
Some place in my head.

Where I make the rules.
Yet, I follow yours.
I hate your rules,
But I love to conform.

What is this love you speak of?
What is this simulation we’re living?
This staged, contrived,
Alluring enslavement?

When you’ve barely even started out,
And you know you’re doomed.
And you know how it ends,
Before you’ve met the plot.

It’s all been said before.
We come from different worlds.
Romanticized fodder for an activist’s dream.
And yet it feels like we’re pioneer lovers.

No one has loved before.
No one has had to choose.
No one has had to lose,
Or hide and pine.

The stoic cool head
Says leave. NOW.
The heart; green and insatiable,
Has its feet entrenched in quicksand.

“…who should be loved and how.”