IDENTITY

This is how I am,

no time for guilt,

playing with fate and quick to bore.

Promises that implode betrayed with neglect.

It’s useless to change me.

Certainty is a stranger to me

because of the panic love causes,

because of imagination,

because I’m only

fit

for laziness.

My time is arranged in the last minute

or in premature withdrawals ,

in a sun that does not suffice

and in night that never ends,

in impetuous leaps between thirst and its slaking.

This how I am—

silence to reassemble my parts ,

a slow terror to shatter me,

silence and terror to heal me from a wicked memory

No hope that light will guide me.

I own nothing except my errors.

JOUMANA HADDAD