if there is one thing that i am, i am books. i am
ink, gushing black out of aisles of time, i am ache, brushing
past protagonists in purple and girls spun from gold.
i am tall and heavy, standing in grasses so thick light never
touches the dirt; i am a couch on rainy sunday, springs
sticking out and reaching for freedom from musty confines.
if there is one thing that i am, i am heart. i am
constellations stretched out before myself like an angry map,
i am bound at the stake, i have stood in the sun and not gotten
burned. i am consumed with passion, green with envy, red with
rage; i am wax dripping from antique chandeliers over and over.
if there is one thing that i am, i am the semicolon. i am
always held at half past half, continuing to both stop and go at once.
i am sleep on a summer afternoon, dreaming about creativity and
angry for heartbreak. i am back in the past looking ahead through
rose colored lenses tinted slightly too pink. i am never in the present
or the future, i am always wax, i am always ink, ache, i am always