This search for wholeness, an
unforgiving quest to find a
natural state in a world of
compromise, deceit, and fate.
My self, my view, my impulse
or intention too far beyond
what I am or have now.
Deep thoughts, a deeper longing
for an uncomfortable truth
mainly comprised of falsehoods.
What is behind this fragile shell?
What has it done to protect me?
04/29/2024 j.g.l.
More obvious than DNA, presence
or personality: identity. Individually,
names are given out by someone else,
by family or memory. Titles awarded
before character is developed,
without our knowledge.
A voice we live with. Should you
call out, what will you hear? A name:
in the end, all we are left with. Goodbye.
What you remember and often forget.
Introduction requires random thought
of specific examples.
Fingerprint fact and interpretation, a
name, birth date, statistics, history always
living proof of every step taken, up until
now. Evidence you are all you believe in,
selfish presentation of self-image, under
circumstances that change along with us.
Do you represent what others might think?
How well do they know you? Would you
be any different under any other name?
Will that person remain the same as you
if it were true? Hello. Ask yourself.
It is a hard title to live up to.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
sunlight navigates its way
between
what was and what
is still to come
friday
not just any day
you find the freedom
to notice
transformation happening
as it should
look up
will you see what you should
or observe
all you have neglected
04/26/2024 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
It is not what I have done, but what I still must do.
Reminders, lists; they come to you, without warning.
A song. A sound, a scent; shades of the past, of
time long expired or relationships that didn’t last.
Grocery lists of what to get, sticky notes remind you
of what not to forget. Still, I often do. Or I will try.
How can I decide? Indecision pushes it all to the side
or out of sight. Only recall allows it to survive. Inside.
Little bits and pieces of unnecessary nonsense strewn
about the stacks of essential things that must get done.
Amidst the mental clutter, superfluous stuff to be silently
sacrificed. Forgotten, until memories come rushing back.
Trauma will not disappear. It will, over time, dissipate,
but always remains close enough to feel. Unneeded.
Reminders are varied, something that serves to keep alive
clandestine keepsakes. Observed only by yourself.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.