Make meaning

Why are you making me out

of your own understanding?

Why do you run ahead

with short form conclusions

as if I were a fast sketch

and then soon a handbill

handed out to your friends.

Do you have a career over me

or through me to achieve?

What if your understanding

has limited self elements

with which to compose?

Do I have an emaciated existence

made up of the remnants

from what your personal experience

can directly draw from to perceive?

If you know me

without empathy, without serenade,

without gleam, without pause,

then you only know of me.

There is no dance

without an intimacy exchange

and subsequently, music of beings.

Your discourse is idle lyrics

without cross-shared melody.

Your meaning applied to me

is only a mirror for display purposes.

Your true intent

hardly reaches your lips.

Any confirmation of my character

died in a soulless way

before your meaning arrived.

You may think you have paws

for a primal engagement

but your mind only wears cleats

for lumbering down a fast track.

If there is an unknown war

being waged between us,

my battles have no words,

my victories make silence shared,

my defeats are lessons

only repeating themselves

without fresh eyes

and an open heart.