The moon is both black and white / with shades of gray
I am a mystic palindrome / who performs thaumaturgy
and has had it performed on me
From the Sorrows of Werter / I began to realize
I am incipient
Though some crossing my fated existence deprecate my existence
It's all necessary under this black and white moon / with shades of gray
A butterfly is pressed upon my chest / with hues of blues seeping through
the luckiest, unluckiest girl I know / and I know a lot / but
not everything
Some can't handle what I know
Some resent that I know not how to be perfect / because
perfect to you is different than perfect to him / and
there within falls the shades of gray
I am capacious
suffering / surviving the insufferable
When I glow some glower
They resent that I glow for a reason other than them
They don't like it if I glow for them / because
they are also frightened by beautiful possibilities
And that...my dear zombies...is sad / because
they are dying before they've lived / and
there within falls the hues of blues / There
a butterfly simply tries to live its 3 weeks of life
with simplicity and awe...a dapple on its wings
a mark on my left eye / Angels in the cemeteries
drawing me inside
I'm in some sort of bivouac / the emolument doesn't suffice
Another threat looms / mistakes made / but
how lovely these little flowers bloom
under this black and white moon
One becomes pugnacious / another, affectionate again
There's always confusion / a diffusion
from the questions / the answers
Umbrage forms on one side / dissipates on another
Gray
Light
Blue
True
Maybe...It's not you.