alter ego

I searched for the diction, the exact words to convey the dynamic in my head:

I turned to him and said:  "There's another person who lives inside of me.  Those words -- those words I used to think were from God -- are hers, not mine.  She's the one who writes..."

My brow involuntarily chased the other one for comfort in the face of this conundrum.

"... And I think that she's the one who cries too."

The Birth of the Self-Made Man

She filled the grey with green --
She was the rolling hills, the tumbling rocks,
and the tide that licked the beach clean.
Mother Earth, she colored his world --
the saffron, the golden, the crimson blush
of the sun rising behind the eyelids of dreamers.

But not before to him she bestowed
the mallet and the pick;
And along this beach she sent him
with the task to dig beneath the sand

And for his entire lifespan,
there he did remain --
Giving care to muscle and sinew
as he carved himself from clay.

Rumination

Stream of consci'sness --
tuck'd back in Pandora's Box
Ink bleeds catharsis.