Within this dome,
I stare above a dark heaven and sparse black clouds,
Surrounded only by silhouettes in my view,
This dome where time and space divorce,
And I am left to debate one for the other,
Found in a routine and weekly turnarounds,
I spiral and shift in a vision of my masks, ever-changing and corrected by knots that need to tighten, or gaps that must be closed,
With time, my life only passed as my mind could not manage what my body had suffered,
Stillness—
Identity of similarity,
Whereas space became foreign to my knowledge, the concept of nothingness.
As it was nothingness,
As it was not real,
As it resided in thought, mine alone to bear,
Space was something that I owned,
It was compound to the fragility that I housed,
Space had been a place of temperament,
An opportunity to play with interpretation,
And attachment,
This world displaced before me,
It is wasted on me,
For I am an item lost in the garbage bin,
Swimming with the rest of wasted potential and discarded dreams,
This world is a picture in a puzzle of which I do not fit,
I did not feed the fire with lies,
To whom I offered the truth of my image in my hands,
Cupped and full,
Yet, it would not take me,
Yet, it would not burn,
Between my image and the image of the perfect,
I am a lowly paid puppet, tied by my feet, neck and elbows,
Dancing the monkeys dance, forced to feet in and dance for a soulless tribe,
In that dome,
I am enquired to entertain and make good of their egos,
Pamper their insecurity,
And to kiss their golden polished feet,
Within that dome where I must find rest,
I lack to be seen,
I lack ease,
My image,
For whatever it could be,
Does not define famous,
It does not present worth,
They tell me with their eyes that I will accomplish scratch-shit,
And with a voice to pity a child,
They tell me I carry a name that will never be heard,
A name, my name,
Never acknowledged or written on the wall accompanied by my dreamy achievements,
Within this dome—
Suppressed.
Website: Yumigudu Photography (mypixieset.com)
Instagram: @yumigudu