
Your glimmering daydream
In all their years of perceived existence, they finally yearn to be a phantom, inscrutable, intangible. Some thing you can’t possibly know nor learn. They refuse to be a prisoner caged in tiny four-by-fours, a boxed present waiting to be tapped in red, left on display and ravaged, exposed and fingered through screens. They were not born to be on display, raw meat ogled by hungry-eyed dogs. They were not meant to be a self-hating mirror, misconstrued ideologies reflected in each self-distorting filter. They are not a fantasy of bones and flesh and sex but a diaphanous and earth-shattering echo of your deepest unspoken thoughts, an everlasting and piercing hallucination.
✧˚ · .
unearthed from the archive (2017). happy world poetry day, my love bugs and glimmering daydreams.
—D