Letters To Myself

LETTERS TO MYSELF: POEM TO AN INFP.


All the while to sit like a stone, lost to society
Im  the child I told you before, now no more me
To want to live a life of possibility and purpose
but sensitivity will kill me, life, her evil eye
And destiny she smiles at her child born this way
Im dying to live how I wish my curse to walk away


I sit with purpose pondering the billion  question
because I sit on the moon looking down on the earth
running ten thousand miles all by myself to the top
and cry rivers because the ocean was too busy for me
a sweet sorrow life is living dead the same difference
nature is my only friend, my thoughts my hiding place


No longer to run from a mirror that breaths the truth
fates tender grip & formed muscles picked this seed,
the question is the answer the irony to my generosity
the begining of the end is the paradoxical complexity

the gift never died and the curse ever remains quiet
cuz the medicine is the pain my poem to an INFP

How did I become this way is it not the Potters hand
 then writing poems that sob, sing, laugh and dance
so natural like the wings of wind that fly to me
it came out my soul like a rocket when time matured
And I drank the demon dance the dance of drunkards
And the passion woke me to life what sane madness!


Now all the years of hunger and thirst are forgotten
All the old miseries & the billion dollar question
It is the INFP! It is the INFP! Poem to the IN in me
life is a journey I started without a map and key
I found a friend called Poetry my only companion
She like me is an INFP, my water to wine, five loaves.

Shall the righteous die a poor man with rich thoughts
I work the pen and dig this fertile land of mine



Mythical_Poet- draft 1

workin progress