spiritual language poetry & writings

a mamaist conclusion

 

 

I’ve tried everything:
I tried pretending;
I tried not pretending;
I tried trying not to pretend;
I even tried pretending not to be trying.
I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried–
To whomever would deny me
who and what I am,
my least action has said,
or seemed to say,
“Just try me!”
It has all been very trying…
But trying to be what we’re meant
to be, isn’t that what we’re here for?
For try as you might,
it cannot be helped–
what you are, your own way
of being, your sensibility
–that about you which feels,
at times, tried–
is entirely inescapable.
This whole business of being
–its trial and error–
what else can one do
but keep trying?

 

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