IS THAT ME?

I rise

like the Phoenix

only to die again

several times.

Images rule

but mirrors are obsolete.

My form melts

To create several new shapes

until I do not

recognize myself.

Vision is a relic of the past

fluidity, the new concrete.

I saw influence

giving way to manipulation

and diplomacy

to multiple-speak.

If sensitivity is dead

Why did I learn etiquette?

The subtlety of my existence

acquires new dimensions

in absence of boundaries

to confine growth.

I move beyond myself, to see

where the auras meet.