i am overwhelmed by the selves i was
by the selves i will be
and am
presently.
selves folding out of the sea
like unicorns
silver
and untouchable to the mundane
sacred selves.
moonlight's grip
cracks me open like an egg
like a magical, mystical
geode
revealing all the shiny bits of soul
to the icy, clean morning air.
what if i craved my life
as if i were connected to everything?
what if i let loose such a cataclysmic compassion?
could i then look to the moon
and understand why i am crying?
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