and the thing is, i'm a complete mess.
i confess--i have no consistency,
no reasoning, no logic or beauty
or anything good in my DNA
and no, it is not my parents' fault--
i am a genetic mutation filled
with flaws and imperfections
and no one or nothing else to blame
but myself. i'm lazy. i procrastinate.
i'm brash and over-opinionated
and unladylike. i am frightening
in the way i love people but i am also
alarming in the way i am disconnected
from everything else. it's scary,
i know, that science can create
such systematic madness
as the atoms that piece together
my existence. we are all
scientific madmen.
psychotic mathematicians.
that is all any of us are.
unidentifiable chemical reactions
festering in a Petri dish
of life and love and pain and death--
science is not the answer
for this anatomical anarchy,
but neither is language.
there are no answers,
only uneducated guesses
and shots in the dark--
existence, you see,
is a cruel cage of genetics
that only poets attempt to escape.
and without the brutal savageness
of science and mathematics
as a backdrop for life,
there would be no way
to admire the subtle, gentle violence
of a poet's eloquence.
or lack of eloquence. or complete
systemic madness.
it's all the same, really,
we are all just unidentifiable
chemical reactions in a Petri dish
of life and love and pain and death.
and that, by the laws of psychics,
is all we'll ever be.
YOU ARE READING
seams and stitching ♡ published
Poetry"this is your kind of story. no one is the good guy-- no one is the bad guy-- the blame shifts from monster to monster and in this place everyone bares their teeth." [featured. highest ranking: #6 in poetry.]
