People who have a limited body of information
can be sure about things.
I have
so much
bouncing around and down and off walls
I’ve erected and people I’ve rejected and ways I’ve been
erased,
that I’d
never be able to stop and be stable and stop and
be precious and pry into minds without
leaving a footstep and
I’d
never believe till I saw you, I needed
some body or thing not to cling to my heels but to strike up a deal where
I will stay speechless and you can release some
inner desire of mine
to be tired of lying to selves I’ve decided
are WhoIAm now and forever and feverish
glances from you
put a place in my gait
for smiling and cracking off corners of shells I’ve
surrendered or sacrificed daily, today
I see why, I know stars and the trying and your
ways and the fighting and
it’s all so surprising
to find that a moment finds me where I’m sure…
…for once…about things.
But I only have a limited body
of information.
It doesn't seem this author has a really limited body of information. She expresses the difficulty to have an identity in a mess. However the trouble is of somebody else and not of this clever author.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A perfect fast-paced expression of the feelings and experience of life with arresting sound patterns and making the reader experience what the poet felt. You are an accomplished writer and this is an exceptional poem, congratulations! Kind regards, Margaret.