Sythesis of the Selves

I've been told that

Poetry

Is not real work.

"There is no function in society; no production
made by hands."

This is a prodcut of my imagination.
Written language is the tangibility of possibility.

Possibility was torture for my mind
Since without clear route
I could not escape
The fear of being lost
Within my selves.

Now, I see the art.

Is the I the same as the person who writes?
What does this say about the self?
Who is the self that is produced?

If the function of ethnic poetry is to claim a space
Then, we are still enslaved.

The self saw its self
Through the eyes of the outside world.
Such pressure
Like ocean water
On
The breath.
My mind
Broken
Into pieces,
Thoughts,
Selves,
Has finally selved
In synthesis.