bring me freud, jung, piaget, neitzsche, dostoevsky -
i want to understand
this troubled heart.
mine? perhaps, not - i didn't ask it, it didn't say;
the mind, too, is duly uncertain;
tethered to the heart, but not, perhaps, kept by it:
existence is not conclusive proof of anything proprietary.
maybe it belongs to no one.
i belong to no one.