Domestic Limb? Foreign Limb.

Its odd

feeling a domestic limb

and thinking that it’s not my own.

.

Prodding it,

poking it in the hope,

that I will feel both sides;

the aggressive finger

and its reverberation on the

complacent skin.

.

~

.

It’s odd,

feeling a foreign limb

and thinking it’s my own.

.

I think that this person

is simply another an extension of myself.

What she does and has done,

is the same as what I do

and have done.

I think to myself.

I think of her

as a mini me

and become blind

to the fact that she is her own person.

.

When she is moving forward,

I warn her of the traps

that ensnared me on my road

But they are not necessarily present on hers.

.

~

.

But despite my confusion,

she is still her own person

and doesn’t think of herself

as simply another extension

of me and myself.

.

This creates a rift.

Which with one letter changed is a raft.

It is the raft that takes her

away from me and my island

and out onto the open sea.

.

I try to chase after my missing limb,

but running into sea water.

It shocks me

and when I look down

I realize I never owned that extra limb to begin with.

.

But not it’s too late,

she’s gone~

_________________________________

♫ : I wrote this while listening to Joe Hisaishi’s song Lost Spirit from the soundtrack of Porco Rosso.

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