The familiar becomes foreign,
we stare at something we think we should know.
Puzzles breed in the grounds of predictability,
and the pieces build our castles.
Fortresses we intended to bravely erect
transform into entrapments of identities.
Digits in a phone number,
Organization of letters in a last name.
I know when my voice is my own.
It’s a bland world when the thoughts become,
Who am I, but a sack of meat and bones?
Where have the fireflies gone,
and why do I miss them so?
Magic fairy dust alight upon my shoulders.
I am apathetic in this world of zero sum games.