On fate:

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
free verse

(written on adderall)

Submitted: August 16, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 16, 2012



I heard once

We don't have souls-

We have bodies-

We are souls.

I'd hope to know

If that were true,

But first I'd need

A falsely simpler truth-

What is a soul?

Have I even got one?

My soul?

People love with their souls:

They have soul-mates,

So it must be so.

Then can a soul be broken?

Smashed beyond repair?

Perhaps we believe its our heart

Because it beats as it cries

For the whole body's despair.

But maybe it's the lungs

That truly break,

Turning leisure to labor

When breath is hard to find.

But something must touch the lungs,

Crush the lungs.

And maybe that is the soul-

The being I've called the monster

Living in my breast.

Snuggled in a triangle 

Dangerous as Bermuda's.

Its palsm within reach 

Of my two lungs

And stomach.

Ready to push

And pull

Press and pinch

Crush and sever

To his heart's desire-

In retaliation

For denial

Of his heart's true desire-


True or false.

Natural or concieved.

The monster-

The soul-

My soul

Hurts me

When he hurts.

My eyes think again

Of the orange that would save us

Both of us-

He and me-


Together, the orange that will take us

To a manufactured place of happy-

A fake love, elated,

A miracle of modern science,

A curse to modern youth.

To use.

And use.

And use.


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