My splintered consciousness is A medley of broken images Shards of shattered tough-glass Pierce through forced attempts at order Dark and threatening circles Close in on my eyes, concentrically.
My muscular male arms Negate my underlying femininity Sometimes I am male, sometimes female Sometimes I am me, sometimes somebody else.
In my unified moments I attempt in vain To gather pieces of broken glass For a multi-hued kaleidoscope The kaleidoscope remains a dream I only collect bleeding injuries.
My soul lies inert, in a glass jar In the amniotic fluid of primordial confusion As research material for neuro-scientists Cushioned in chaos, there I lay Afraid that the jar would break one day.
