A thousand years of daydreaming,

of floating upstream,

and wrapping my mind around thought,

lapping at the edge of the stream in which my toes freeze,

has led me to believe that the earth is spinning very quickly,

and in another thousand what I did today could hardly matter,

or it could change the very course of my tomorrow a thousand years from now,

that a purple love I met in a stream could blow me away and though I could fall from her arms any day from now, she will have affected my own days in a thousand, the same as the rice ball I met in the fall of myself would follow me in the rise and see me through alongside her in her own fall and time to turn, to have influence over a thousand days or years from now simply for the 365 we have already spent, if not 366, and the same way the one I met today to change could shed a different light on the side of the moon we both did not know, and though so short, could probably already be changing my course.

yes, a thousand years of daydreaming have led me through different stars, and suns of a different sort, and change that I'll know tomorrow, and tomorrow in a thousand years, for a thousand years of daydreaming has given me cause to know that though a day could not matter, the truth is that it does, and that which I have known today in this moment could be forgotten but nonetheless within, in a thousand.

I chose myself and my own path,

leading me to my very own chance to choose you,

and this I swear is true,

but it would be a lie if I was to say

that the reason I chose that way

was simply curiosity,

and not running from those hands that had shaped me.

I chose myself, and who I am today,

escaping that who sought to control,

and who had shaped into misery, my own life in darkness.

If I had not weathered a storm within my own pitiful boat,

fighting the waters and waves of hands which tossed me to and fro,

which shaped me and broke me,

I could not have made me,

and so I say, that the reason I am who I am today,

is not only me, and not only you,but monsters and rivers, mountains, and flowers  

That is a pretty thing to say,

And a philosophy I too could hold true-

with little sway,

but you and I both know of the sum total,

of the cumulative thought and life within we have been brought,

which is to say that who I am today,

could never have been without those,

people and places and spirits and chaos

I met along the way.

For those and that which you have known,will always remain, within your bones.

A poem could be roses,

A poem could be stars,

A poem could be you and I,

Or maybe a poem is roses,

A poem is the stars,

And you and I,Well we are a poem.

In an effort to contradict those around me, and that person I do love most,

I offer only the statements of a rebel,

who really is no good at being a rebel,

(and never will be any good),

to say that a million things do make a man,

including himself,

but most certainly not only himself,

and only that reaction if you are to say

that it is his reactions to the world

that make him make himself, himself.

But is it not the hands of those,

whom we have passed through,

in our course of life upon the waves,

that have shaped us like the potter at the wheel?

Surely, we have created ourselves many times,

within our own known and result,

but haven't we formed, at least in part,

by others when we were too young,

and too unaware, to have formed anything ourselves?