To awaken and find thyself still slumbering
Is a peculiar and rather exciting thing
Perhaps this is a dream or mayhap I am remembering
But in the end I am simply, honestly, being

I do not know why I am even here
And in the waking hours of my twilight
Yet everything seems so very very clear
It feels as though I could take flight

To where, and when, and why is lost
But the sensation and thrill lingers still
Truly it is the feeling I love most
However I fear there will be a bill...
A price I dare not speak...
That is undenyable
A fear that lingers
Which is there
That crawls
Within my
Heart.
Yet,
Hope
Lingers on
Soaring Still
Higher and Higher
That this is not Insanity
And the things I feel
Are simply a part of me
No matter how terrifying the zeal

For every hour, of every day
There is a price of which I pay
To feel this wonder that I do
As these paws overtake my shoes

It is so heavy and unyielding
Which is the truth never revealing
Am I truly real? Am I sane?
Or is this just a manifestation of my pain?

It is at its core a thing of duality
Which is a big part of humanity
So strange that I cannot associate
For I feel like an outsider, and with them I cannot negotiate




What I feel I try to describe
But really they cannot Imbibe
For I speak within my faux native tongue
Riddles some quite old and some so young

Am I lost? Alone? Perhaps
And this poem could be some sort of relapse
But I feel that in its pointlessness
There is something to address

Is it a call for help?
Or maybe its just a yelp
Perhaps it is a vent
But really that would suggest torment

And though I whine and moan
Truly I have atoned
I do love being like this
Even if sense, I do miss.

-Just a poem that came to me upon waking with paws and wings and a tail kinked in the wrong position. Quite a vivid thing to wake up to and realize that your a sphinx, even if you do it at least once a week. And well...after pacing around the house getting a good stretch this poem came to me about...well...about how I guess I feel about my condition. About how I feel and see all these bodies and forms and yet must hide them and how any knowledge pertaining to why I am this way obfuscates me. Yes the rhyme structure changes three times and yes some of the rhymes are about trite but you know what? I still enjoyed writing it. And it was something I needed to do anyway.

Pretentious hipster poetry