With deficit comes compensation.
A man will assert his genius.
A woman will assert her determination.
There was a soul, she was brilliant, many wouldn’t endorse her—pain made her shoulders heavy.
She became renowned; she carried the naysayers, albeit with excellence, she was compounded by forces.
Men never fathom, too subdued by our madness, humans are consumed … to measure life becomes difficult.
To need what we can’t provide, it kills a soul.
Alike to a child, a teenager, those many wilts, unable to clear a path.
I remember this melody, said nocturne, celestial undertones, art at its deepness, somewhat penchant—a clasps over a palm, delicate chasms.
I was loving an axiom, with hope in projection, to believe in you stood the best of me; ignoring factors, charmed I’d suppose, nay, allergic to perfection; a man and his fishing pole, a woman and her seduction, or better, pain and its mind-holds. I stray from you, compelled to analyze us, at times heavy enough to see a shadow, a glimmer.
And I know one is going through winds, tugged to and fro, looking at ink, palming pads, trying not to snap; nonetheless, a moment changes life, such ambition, several publications.
I remember a woman asserting herself, because she had to; or using satire, because she could.
