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Bespeak

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do my thoughts bespeak my status as a writer
or just a human?
does hearing symbols' cymbals evidence my literary voice
or just my standard eardrums?
does my eloquent self-doubt imply confident expression
or just simplistic oblivion?
who am i, wearing two shoes?
fit they well, a pair of equals that carry me down the same path of physical space-time
while they tread with dissimilar rhythms --
one swaggers while the other skips.
cursed i am to stand so close to falling
or am i blessed in this imbalance?

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