بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

not as whole as i seem, trying to refrain from display, of all pieces behind the scenes. as much as i love, the dissonance is deep, striking, things for myself i'd never connect, intertwined in a reality manifested, not sure how i evolve next, when shambles is the game board, my queen herself part of the test. half the motivation doesn't extend past duty or obligation, unable to love freely, with disappointment and pain ancient bedfellows oft visiting. how to exist when what i am cannot be made real, when what's seen is just partial or plainly culled from life's most basic meal, no expression for that side of me made shadow and to people simply invisible. i know well ralph ellison's dilemma, his protagonist was one who couldn't fit in society, so he dwelled on the edges, not bothering to deal with the ephemeral. somehow, i need to let everything else be as it is, for myself to just breathe and keep in, everything i long for and chase, even if all beloved life keeps at arm's distance, this maze, continues its winding and wading, through swamps and quicksand pits, my moves limited, checkmate eventual, but for whom the victory?