…because knowing the end is the surefire way to move forward right.
I AM remembering.
This is how I cover myself up. This is a statement I made when I was a lot younger, when I was still quite inept in using the English language (or rather, wisely using the thesaurus), when I thought that everybody else should understand me better. Now I still do, that’s why I’m not a grownup yet, at least, with respect to my high superego standards.
My first layer seemed unapproachable
that cowers people with my grim visage
that seemed unreal as if wearing a masquerade
that engulfs people with doomed obscurity
My second layer seemed buoyant
that enlightens people with my blithe facet
that seemed absurd but actually jocular
that amuses people with loose-fitting accomodation
My third layer seemed sophisticated
that comforts people with my ambrosial countenance
that seemed more private rather than unpredictable
that maturates people with emotional disseminations
Easy to narrate
Hard to comprehend
But that’s ME!
The inflated ego was so much happier back then just by writing beautiful words down and label it as poetry. This is definitely not who I am today. As a matter of fact, if there’s going to be so much adjectives around, might as well take all the “I” out and change it into “me”, so that I view the external world more objectively, rather than trying so hard to complain about how others will never comprehend me. Does that make sense?
My inner critic is on fire right now. High, high superego. Ego is still a weakling blossoming into adulthood. Id is always around. I can’t imagine how Freud thought of separating parts of the self so much that generations of people influenced by his thoughts develop behaviors that exhibit their weaker sense of selves.
Let’s see what will it look like if I change.
Her first layer seemed unapproachable;
it cowers people with a grim visage
unreal, as if it wears a masquerade
invisible, engulfs people in obscurity, doomed.
Her second layer seemed buoyant,
enlightening people with facets of blithe
absurdity, it seems, but really, just jocular
amusing people, accommodating, wears loose-fitting jeans.
Her third-layer seemed sophisticated;
it comforts others, that countenance ambrosial
more private, grounded yet unpredictable
its seeds maturates, disseminating, everchanging
Let her narrate,
and you’ll understand.
That’s her story.
SALUNA is signing off.