The Certainty of Chaos

I twist my fractal mind,

attempting to align with something I recognize,

but only fragments of me are revealed;

Some genius, a little beauty, and piles of hate—

I’m a scattered jigsaw left feeling unsatisfied and missing pieces.

I rotate again,

assuming that if I continue turning, I’ll somehow find the answers,

but all I find are more shards of glass and strewn pieces.

There are no real messages hidden here, are there?

Just more of myself.

I cannot be my own answer, can I?

The shapes of me continue to corkscrew.

I’m a crystallographic enigma caught in an egocentric trance.

Mesmerized by all my colors, I begin to lose time.

I become lost, inspired, and curious, yet constantly pessimistic about my existence.

Is that even possible?

Another turn and I feel I am meeting a stranger,

yet every part of me has lived here all along.

I think. If only I had met myself earlier, where would I be?

but then I must be reminded, I am here now.

I squint inquisitively wondering—

What's the meaning? What's my purpose?

Maybe with each adjustment, I change for the better,

and sometimes for the worse,

but change happens regardless.

If that’s true, then aligning to perfection will never work, can never be achieved,

and the answer lies within chaos itself.

Chaos...

…It’s the only certainty.

Perhaps I can come away with a deeper appreciation,

of who I am, who I was, and whom I have yet to become,

and maybe love is the same way.

Perhaps that’s why they say you should love yourself first.

So, I twist my mind once more

and greet me for the first time in a while.

Hello stranger, it’s time we met.