Processing Clarity
My fortresses are always built from glass.
This is due to the fact that there is a certain beauty in fragility,
And a treasured quality about pure transparency.
The problem with which I am faced, however,
Is my very nature as a thrower of stones.
It is not for sport nor pleasure,
But by pure instinct that I come by this trait.
I am protector; man of ancient origin.
Time and place make this illogical,
And cast doubts upon my standing with modernity,
Though, it is bred in me all the same.
Patriarchal preconceptions predetermine
My "masculine" motions,
Thereby thwarting the
Dignified discourse deemed
Appropriate, au courant.
In lay-terms, I'm out of date,
Out of touch,
Out even, of house and home
If I can not reconcile my nature and my sense of taste.
For no matter how efficient I am at throwing these stones
And fulfilling my inner need for dominion control,
Still, in the end, all I am left with are beautiful shards,
Essentially useless,
'Less change be made in heart and self.
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