sub(conscious)

i don't know what this is.
it fell out of my fingers today.

(but i just found out, pre-edit, that this site by default destroys the architecture of a poem. i'll post it anyways. it won't be the same as what i meant though. it will be the only one i'll let out of handwritten context. ever!)


i am not a soldier
a mother
a martyr.
i am only
the owner
of history.

a mind/full of knowledge
a pocket/full of change
unspent
of no consequence
either way
(i suppose)

but is what i suppose
ever the Truth
i question myself

because i can't tell if youth is the place it's okay
to spend dollars and thoughts sparingly
day to day on things i'm unsure of
(will i ever be sure?
was anyone sure?)

there went those before me
who seem to've known less
but knew far more i think
(but i think much too much)
they were good
they were worse
they were unaware
(they changed the world.)

i now know...
(for a moment at least)

it's not up to me to know.

it's up to me to let what's been known
by all of us alike
outside of time
and theory
(and me)
manifest through this presence
that brushes briefly past time
and circumstance

to take part in a series of steps
i never learned
in hopes that
something
could be communicated
(somehow)
despite my doubt.
to spite
my Self
(she fights it anyway)


to take part
in the unknown
is maybe
the answer
i can never own.