prophecy + fence

there goes a prophecy
etched in ink,
scratched in faded pencil.
it promises that
one day,
you will find yourself.

(the details are,
naturally,
unclear)

one day,
it happens. there’s no magical
switch, no brilliant realization.
it just happens.
one sleepless night later
there is a scheme
in place.

(it’s gentle;
oh-so-biting before you
expect it)

so it’s easy.
you fence yourself off
hold a mirror to your face
to the light. examine every
flaw
and cover every last one.

build a fence of
numbers and years,
numbers of years. latch
the gate,
stack layers topplingly high.

(you can’t reach;
nor can they)

the prophecy never knew this:
that finding yourself comes
with a tower-fence.

(later, much later,
you sleep easy)

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