by Max Gilman '25 on February 10, 2023
Portfolio Co-Editor
Portfolio
Like food in storage,
I bear a singular label.
Never mine
And I fear to be thrown away.
Rotting in mold,
isn’t better. To be
forgotten or folded
in a thousand aliases—
And then who am I, to define myself, if I never was to begin with?
Y.o.u:
the letters punched into my keyboard right now in this present moment; all I will ever be able to utilize, defining
who I am.
M.e:
dismal attempt to define life;
a testimony to the person who wrote these words,
my last connection with
who I was seconds ago.
a label: nonexistent.
A fib, a lie, myth, mold
stains the seams of your named tag.
But you are the second, the moment, the present,
you are an ink blot knotted on paper,
are not the name of the parent.
better to be forgotten
Than folded
In a thousand aliases,
Like food in storage,
Like certificates of identity,
WmnetbyovbOsnjwsnzRuxuoDbwaSmtbuc
without purpose.
on a page.
congealing.