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The Becoming



I didn't like it,
but I enjoyed discovering that I didn't like it.

I didn't love her,
but the process of undeceiving myself was delightful.

I didn't lose anything,
but I ached for everything I pretended was mine.

I became something else
between each word—it was fantastic!

If not for the words,
there would have been nothing.

Or the words were also nothing,
and I used nothing to rearrange nothing to reiterate nothing.

If the ache was all there was,
or the becoming, then what was I?

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.