On my worst days I am a point
Like every fevered dream
Of being too small to move
Nightmarishly trapped in place
As the world grows large around me
I am dimensionless and still
Present in space
But concerned only with the space I occupy
And the work of continuing to be

On my best days I am a vector
Like every time I’ve dreamed of flight
I think myself forward and
With the bottom falling out of my stomach
Take off in defiance of my earthbound form
I have direction
I have purpose
I care for nothing but moving
As the work of being
Takes no effort at all

Most days, I am a multi-dimensional being
Like dreams of normal life
Whose details don’t all add up
I represent something not immediately apparent
The truth of which is only rarely determined
By careful reflection and strong insight
I am complex
I have value
And yet I still long for days
When I feel more simple
Best or worst
I don’t care so long as I can escape the complexity of being