Tuesday, August 6, 2013


All the bits of you,

unpersuaded permanence,

unable to change,

forever stained in

your personal ink,

unwilling to move

and unlatch itself

from your soul,

kicked into a world

of existence and being,

unrecognized blank pages

when the first person

with a pen writes

the name you carry

forward in identity,

declares you

in their perception

of one-eyed singularity,

to be the doll or beast

in their vision at that

moment of naming,

let the title stick

or find

another person or friend,


holding you by the handle,

to look at you differently,

to become someone new

without changing

a thing

about yourself.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

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