I have never understood the need to know
The answer to the question
Ringing from a thousand people’s steeping, swollen lips
Steam hisses out from blue expanses, over maraschino red tongues, in-between their teeth.
It shudders across the frozen ravine
Like skipping stones and thin sheets of metal, hollow, tin-man-chests
(Grey. Green. Cracking.)
Slipping, bounding, every voice one tone
The same tone
Every tone at once.
They mutter, maybe shout, intertwining
Weaving
Woven together—
“Who am I?”
(echo)
(echo)
(echo)
I blink.
Wet eyelashes lock together
And I open my eyes
To the soft smudged lines of charcoal
That lacerate the scene
I am me—
Me.
Where is the question?
What is there to define?
I am atoms, molecules, cells
Pebbles
Feathers
Paints
Stitches
Staples
Stains
A mismatched pair of socks
One green, one blue
I am frilly, floral dresses, sitting in the sand.
I am—I am—What am I?
I am everything, nothing.
Somewhere in between.
I am Outside, Over There,
The Velveteen Rabbit,
And The Potty Book.
I am handmade, hand sewn.
A disproportionate doll
Blue thread crisscrossing on the corners of my eyes
Shaky hand of a sick-fifth grader
Sequin eyes
Penned on mouth
IV still attached
(thin sharp silversteel pouring purple into my veins)
I shake.
“Shake it Like an Earthquake”
Dances close and laughing.
This isn’t allowed.
I am not allowed.
My pants,
Sharpied in a sore attempt of imitation
Speak me, a little
Have been banned.
I am not allowed.
This; me; this difference,
Irregularity
(I like to think exists)
Shut out by closed eyes
The silhouette of me
Black against bright orangepinkyellow light
Shining through paperthin skin
I am not allowed. I enjoy it.
And yet…I am accepted.
I am…these are, those are, this is.
We are.
Memories.
Experiences.
I am a puzzle.
Missing pieces of cat
The little orange kitty whom sometimes I still miss
What was his name?
It made me think of planets.
I am lungs and red dresses, sitting on our front stoop with popsicles.
I am Super Zippity, Cinnamon! And cardboard blocks and trains and organs.
Pipe cleaners, golden stars, caramel in squares.
The blocks sat in a pile. Green. Pea soup, but lighter, yellower.
I am the way the corners of those blocks were used and dulled and fraying, soft brown and peeling apart layer by layer by layer.
In the same off-white room
I am from “cute as a pickle”
And blue clad hugs
Veins and bruises on his legs
Jo March and the nutcrackers.
I am like the Nutcracker.
--I am cadence.
I am a dance.
I am music in 4/4
Oon-tha-oon-tha
And buzzing strings against thick thumbs
Kick, ball, change
Fingers splayed, twirling in the rain
Like skeletons who cough out smoky lyrics
An arena, an army
Stacks and stacks of seats
Breathing slips of black and white
And we are one
I am everyone
I am the cut on your cheek, your wrist
I am white-cloaked death
Spinning innocent circles around you
Swept you off your feet, huh?
Knocked you down, huh?
And yes, this is all my fault
Yes, you should blame me.
Thank you.
Thank you for not.
Because I am trying
I am the arms that wrap around
And try to hold the world together
The tape and kisses pressed over your cracks and crumbles
Shiny, gift-wrap-scotch, and flowers
I am the regrets, put to rest in peace
On muddy ground
Scraps of paper, rough and winding snow
Gliding on a gust of wind
Wings open wide
Don’t flap.
You’re falling,
Falling.
Want me to catch you, huh?
And I am the hopes, the wishes, the dreams,
Wet sharpied onto balloons, squeaking and fading
Sodden, soaking.
Let me go
Up.
Up up and away.
Look.
Look there.
I’m flying.
The wind picks me up from below
And red and black
Raindrops rolling down my cheeks
Like tears
Make my eyeliner run
And into my mouth
Streaked with ink and graphite and slushie and kisses
The white triangle scar
And dark crevices
Like escape routs, like tunnels.
Like secrets,
Like the secret kiss of Wendy’s mother
That was saved for Peter Pan.
Purple lips like juicy seedy berries
That we picked from the tree
And ate with milk
Rounder, darker, fuller
Love, in so many words, written on my arms.
I am a picture
A story
A memory
A dream
I am a poem
Sitting, biting my lip, grinning
Pointed ears chalked against the wall
Saxophone Man
Like I’ll rock off in a second
Maybe I will.
I am—I am—I.
On the other side of the canyon
They are watching me with dark eyes
Deep.
You’d fall in to any one of them
Never leave
Nothing in there to tell you which way is down
Or up
Or out.
Reflected off their pupils; the abyss.
They are a sea of blank faces
Unpainted masks.
Puppets.
(master, master)
Blurred by drops of water,
Smudge stick, crosshatch, sapphire skies.
Small and unforgiving, scared.
I love you.
I stare across, dolls, I’m a real girl, a real girl.
Surrounded by vast nothingness on all sides.
No life.
The volumes of forever stretch out in all directions,
Grey-blue marker landscapes
Crumpling and curling trees and stones,
Still water.
I am a single bright red feather
Drifting onto roots.
I am alone--
I smile.
Feeling:  Just a little shaky. Can you hear me now? Hummingbuzzingnothingness |
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80mimechan08's journal
Okay. But worried.
Hurt
Confused. Also, numbish.
Guilty