I don't want to be solved

This is another poem

Me

I don’t want to be solved.

I know…

There must be something deeply wrong with me.

Something off.

Something not quite right.

I suspect… I’ve known it since forever.

And fixing myself,

Soothing myself,

For just as long.

Maybe I like it that way.

Maybe ‘knowing’ there’s something wrong

Keeps me safe.

Keeps me outside.

As if knowing excludes me from the action.

Every time I scratch—

That itch at the back of my mind—

Something changes.

Again.

On the outside.

And from the Outside In,

Looking out into the vast ocean of possibility,

I watch the waves.

Move…

Back and forth.

They move…

Back and forth…

"Will I let Time cradle me?"

I ask,

A whisper from my throat

Reaching into the sky.

Will I let it rock me back to sleep?

Back to believing

That life is but a dream?

Where it storms

From time to time—

Much like in reality…

And also, in reality…

The sun shines

For days

On end.

“I don’t want to be solved,”

I pen my thoughts.

I don’t want to understand

Any of this—

If it means

Losing the magic

Of not knowing—

who I am.