perfidious

I know myself better than anyone else, and yet so often I claim ignorance.

As if I'm innocent to my own desires and manipulations. Of myself. For myself.

The curse of remembering everything that happened the night before.

The curse of writing everything down.

The curse of my own premeditation.

But I lie blankly and say I'm surprised. Caught off guard. Usurped.

If I could genuinely alter my intentions we would all see clearly to the bottom of my creek-bed.

But I rattle across the rapids and skin my knees on the rocks I placed. Obstacles. White-water of too much talking. Convincing my closest friends.

I know myself better than anyone else.

And I know I've made the bed.