by Andie Bottrell
My appearance is a passing entity all its own,
separate from me.
It's like the atoms of my being are still shuffling around
putting puzzle pieces in different places,
trying to find the algorithm of my soul,
but no appearance seems to match it perfectly
so they just keep shuffling around,
unsettled and unsatisfied.
Similarly, I find I have the need to try and try,
and while in moments rare I feel a closeness to the end,
by morning's yawn I wake to find the similarity's gone and
I'm left an awkward shell housing this strange soul
whose appearance can't be found.