#this sonnet.

At my lowest, in the depths of a perceived misfortune, when the pressure is confining and restricting and pulling

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

I am isolated of my own fruition, and tears slip from my eyes, a testament to the pain I feel at the wrongness of being 

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

I look to the sky for answers, I plead, my anguish is heard from afar, the most holy are troubled by the wretched nature of my self-imposed suffering

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

I look to myself and see nothing of the self there, I wish to believe in fate if only to know for sure that I deserve this lack of continuity between the abstract and material

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

I want to desperately to have the resilience to not let the predatory embrace of twilight take me, I wish to make something light of myself

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

‘Him’ is a word so trivial I scorn to react at its presence, ears perking up like a dog at the idea…

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

It is filthy, this desire to have that which I am told is not mine. I know in my heart it is withheld from me as a means of control, who is to say what I claim as mine?

With what I most enjoy contented least;

The emptiness is a sickness, an infection and I am so close to sepsis…I wish to feel the joy I once did, I wish to shed the weight of complexity that comes with change

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

The addition of ‘almost’ is a defensive reaction; to say that I despise myself is full of shame, to almost be there is to still have hope left. That hope keeps me alive.

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

You are the lark, and I cling to you, the only measure of hope that I have is a hope that you will save me from myself, from the hatred and fear and envy and despair that has corrupted my mind

       For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

You bring something invaluable to me, and the loss of it is a grief that makes me doubt my strength in the gravity of its bearing

       That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

I scorn; I feel the guilt swallow me whole that I could look at myself with anything other than love, that I could let this illness overcome me and not fight back; that all I can do is hope that you will be my savior