Authenticity is so divisive
it stands out against a backdrop of nothingness
cutting through the blank fabric of existence
with sharp points and dangling modifiers
and weight and pressure on top of visibility
willingly forcing
the universe to not only see itself but feel itself too
every now and again

that’s as much at a time that consciousness can withstand
a humble notification
abrasively and effortlessly flashing above
anything anyone could expect
and our first response always is to fear it
whilst our second? Destroy it-
Because authenticity is mean-
it demands to be seen without ever uttering
a word- just by its cosmic formation
the equation is vibrationally disturbed
and you, yes you, are that word- to me

you force me to become a physical thing
you are the blood sucking gut punch
of pure unadulterated authenticity
I’m captivated because
you are

you force me to be free
even if I’m not ready…

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