What would it mean if I were to re-trace the lines of myself?
To outline every aspect of my being and see it for what it is
This mound of flesh is a nuisance compared to my mind
Which is an endless, yet acceptable maze of thought
To retrace myself would be to see who I am and what it means
To be me
And yet, I have done this
For many years I have looked upon myself and reflected
That the things I have done are both insignificant and worthy of thought
Is something I have always adored about my being
But if you look closely at the lines used to draw me
You will see that there are many tiny, small things that change
Over the course of time, these things become different and wonderful
Or dark and scary, or sad and beautiful, or strange and magnificent
Perhaps, even the very poetry I have always turned to when in need is a changing thing
Yes, this being that resides in these bones and organs is an organism of its own kind
It, as my body and the things around my body, has changed
And so, when met with other beings, I am to assume they have changed as well
These beings who so mercilessly chose to bewitch me with kindness
And then turn cold shoulders and shove steely knives into my naïve back
Are to have changed from their form, mostly inside of themselves
If only for the sake of argument, let us proceed to believe they have
This means that they will not treat me with such disdain, and shall we say, annoyance
They will not look upon me, merely as a jokester, but as an equal
Of present thought and intelligence I am not beneath, but beside
And though I may be obliged to a moment, and only one, of certain stupidity
The stupidity it is greeted with shall not be the same of the past, but rather, with love
This is the change I have been promised and yet, my heart is hesitant
Let us now believe, for the sake of my uncertainty that these beings have not changed
This means many things, but to keep my memento short, I shall address only one of these
To not be given my promise, and to be, as they say, ‘let down’
It means that I am not an equal at all, but merely a bug
An old toy they have found, and seen some lost luster in
I am to be played with for awhile, until they are bored with me
And then it’s back into the old toy box I go, for they have lost their love for me
Stranger, I would like to make a statement with which these thoughts have led me to
I am not a toy, nor am I beneath any living thing
For, should God be in a state of fury and decides to hurl some giant rock
Ten times the size of the sun, strait for our small, insignificant, little world
Each and every one of us would die in a fiery, cataclysmic death
Should this happen, I assure you, I would be happy, for I am not ashamed of my life
And everything I don’t do here I’m certain God would be happy to do in that other place
But it means a very, very important thing to know that we would all die in this situation
It means that our lives mean the very same thing as the life of a fly, or a frog, or a giraffe
Our lives mean absolutely nothing and we should always live it to its fullest
This also means that any man or woman or being that treats me as a toy
Any person who dare treat my heart as an inconsequential thing
Will mean nothing but a smile and little time spent together
Because, while my life means nothing, my love, on the other hand is everything
You see, if my life means so little, than the very fact that I can feel means everything
And to waste such a wonder on such petty, little organisms who refuse to accept
The nature of their own beings, in this case, change
Is a pity on any fool who allows themselves to be dragged down by such people
And so, I have made an important decision, and that is that I will not be bothered
The time that I have is very precious
And I shall only spend it on things that I love