SQUIRCLE
my dreams, fantasies
are convex against the world
as they breathe and pulsate
in accordance with no treaty of peace;
my abilities and the love for life
are concave against the world
as they bulge and strain
under the sheer weight of it all ---
my life is a fucking squircle, maaaan,
not round enough to satisfy smoothly
the mellower preferences of my aesthetic;
not square enough to satisfy bluntly
the harsher of my existential and spiritual aspects;
just like the 'squircle' is the portmanteau
of circle and square
my 'life' is likewise a portmanteau
but of lie, and of rife;
fitting as it is, given the plenitude of deception in my life,
i wade on alongside the equator of doubts
that runs around this superellipse, existence, curse of life...
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