He's been stuck in my head awhile now

building houses with colored bricks I have provided,

towers hundreds of feet tall to cast me in shadows

towers which, i'm now realizing, don't exist.

He, the He I know, is not the He that Is

The He of "Is" isn't making maps to sail back home

The He that "Is Not" does these things, fixes old ships

to find me again, sailing through months to get back.

Somewhere along the way, the He that Is and Is Not became two seperate He's

without my knowledge, without my conscious creation of a division

and only now, after I've been out to sea with the He that Is Not

do I realize the difference.

The shallow two-dimensions of the He I have created

whom I've locked away so deeply that I hardly knew I kept him still,

I find Him waiting for me in books, looking out,

in things that aren't about Him,

in places He has no business being.

I don't know if this is what I wished for;

I don't know what I wish for now.