Words are slippery things pronouns especially. Like water balloons you try to hold and pass on in a lifelong relay gauntlet. See if you can make sense why they pop when they drop or sometimes secure in your grip, depends on the ground you're on or what else has touched you lately.
As life goes on, you mold your mind into a big red bucket and see how many you can fit peacefully until a fight breaks out when it's a free for all and the stakes seem so real. Then it's only when the spray dries you check back in and see who's left. Whatever shame or honors filled up the tub, much of the parts you'd like to have kept go down the drain in the fog of war And whoever remains keeps the score between us and them. And who was who again? Every now and then I'll take a piece of me, pinch the nipple between my teeth and twirl it around for all to see. if it pops in the hail of responses, it's dead. And if it's dead, I'm free. Consider you, all you have been, all you could still become, all the yous you have in store and how comfortably they sit skin to skin What volume you can realistically contain, How much of us we've already let go to the ocean, forgetting to take inventory and how much might have already returned to us unrecognizable as precipitation. In the end, you are an equation, a chemical reaction, a series within a series of transformations penetrated by information if it rubs you in the right wavelength.