I can't remember how
To attend to my feelings alone
Like my infant self
Who smiled at the sight of light on the ceiling
And cried at the twinge of pain if it offended.
Rather, now I hide from offense behind smiles
And cry instead at beauty like an angel fallen from grace.
I have learned too well to dissemble, even to myself.
So well I no longer know how to align sense and response.
Likewise, in this forever coming of age,
Reaction no longer follows action
As it did when I was young.
My small smiles do not bring joy and praise.
My wailing cries do not bring help and comfort.
But I would like, in just one lucid moment, to know -
Is it so because they know I lie
Or do I lie because it is so?
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