identity crisis

identity crisis


nothing terribly weighty

no, no substance here

lest you consider air

or breath



tis all she has to offer

and yet lighter still

a balloon floating

o’er the net

a butterfly caught in it


released at last from womb

confused at her own changing

shape to shape

as name to name

balloon, ballon, baru-n, ballong


the children cry

leaping just to tap her


just beyond the grasp, the clasp, the gasp of ‘mine’


but she will not be caught

not even by herself-

defining labels

as if she could be named


when she simply wants to be,

to fly,

on gentler wings

to beauty drawn away


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