7/4/11
I keep waiting to be released
From this angst that continually increased
With my dating foes and fables.
I'd like to turn those tables.
Bill tells me my fate is mine;
I can switch reversed cards, any time.
If I'm pinned in corners of
Mystical design, how is my fate mine?
Cherish confirms my dread,
Of heaven-sent edicts.
I don't think I can full be free
Of what they all say makes me me.
Bill's readings tell me small things,
Things about taking hold
Of things I'd rather foretold.
Cherish tells them in more details.
My own readings tell me
That I don't know enough
To ask the things that
I want cognitive therapy to find.
I'm usually somewhat self aware,
But I gotta tell you --
I'd rather avoid all these stares.
Pointing out things tends to go moot.
I keep thinking, what did I do,
In my last life, to make things this way?
I'd rather muscle through,
To find that elusive brighter day.
I like watching the cards repeat;
They seem to suggest that I ask
Things that weren't just the same.
Perhaps they like their reminding task.
I'm the type to hate patterns
When they fly sideways from logic.
Logic says tarot is silly;
Part of me suspects larger projects.
I have this hunger,
A hunger I'd rather not feed.
Am I me, without my angst?
Am I still edgy without my greed?
If I had what I want,
Would that nix my perception?
Do I dare find what I want,
Stray away from Welfare's protection?
I fear myself, because I rarely help myself.
I'm less of a support than anyone
I typically blame for my childhood.
Maybe it'd be good for my health...
Would I still be me,
If I had someone to complete me?
Would I still have that edge,
What else can I be?
