Wholly Me

Pencil taps at the desk,
Ignoring the survey placed before,
Name, Age, Life Occupancy.

Blanks for me to fulfill,
Thoughtless as I sit here thinking,
Without you I’m just Blank Me.

A lifespan dangerous,
To the fickle mind of others,
Liberal consent confined to age.

Trying to connect,
When desecrated and left wanting,
To fulfill what caused my foreboding.

Name, what am I called
Cold hearted, lifeless
Samantha, or Rydia, Sarah?

Age, who can tell
Ten, thirty-two, Defiled and left to die,
But never quite reaching, Eighteen.

Life Occupancy, Impossible,
Dancer, Designer, Lover, Fighter,
Mother, compiler, unknown.

Blanks, too many for me to see,
All left open by you,
You were the One to complete them.

You’ve left me open wide eyed,
Blinded, backsliding, coughing,
Gaining two steps only to lose five more.

A foot hold and niche,
Anything to gain hold of,
I’ve found the smallest of them all.

A tiny crack nearly indeterminable,
My name, I remember,
My name, that which you may call me is Mac.

My age, I can see,
My age, that which is of no importance.
Endless, Nothing, I am and was and will always be.

These words I write are my life,
They are my legacy to your absent form,
My stories are my occupancy.

I need nothing more
Than what I can provide,
Nothing can complete me,

Nothing can complete that which is whole,
I need nothing to make me one,
Only something to join my life.

I look at the survey filled to the brim
It’s no longer staring me down like foreboding gibberish
I realize now that with out you I am wholly me.

Myself alone, uninhibited,
Unrestrained and open to all,
Arms flung wide in the space that is left.

Blank.