I look at myself and see only the frailties
I see the ways in which I don’t work in this world
the parts that are broken, or hanging on hinges
rusty, unsecured.

But in this arc of a life, there is a beauty which
has polished me. Shiny metal, where grit rubs.
Angles, constructed so as to deflect anger,
which in turn, teach me about balance.

It is, has been, a life.

But I forget the boi.

I forget the path I’ve walked, the cool things I’ve seen,
done,
been.

I forget I am.

How funny.
How sad.

The boi.

I am he.
If I only

remember who has taken this journey.

My companion.
My myself.

To stop. And remember the world,
as it speaks in its eternal hubbub.
Is a whisper, a noise.
Not my heartbeat.

To be able to listen, to this whisper,
to let it be my mirror,
shape me.

And yet.

Not forget that as I stare into its lense.

I see me.

Reflected with all of the other things in the background.

How then.
Don’t throw out the boi with the
noise.
Let them entertwine.
Each is strong.