You blinkard fool,
no bloody God made you;
your body's there to find you.
You swim out to your body's truth.
You do not own yourself:
your self is lost, most
never find theirs;
children swell with pain, nerves flare.
That's how you know you're real:
the pain, the heal. Your self
is floating out there, buoyed in infinite ocean.
Your spirit is your compass. Love the potion.
So fix your fickle fragments to your frame:
your body yours to discover, yours to tame.
Tigers stroll gallantly in your soul's night.
Find your stripes, light your eye. Get your bite.