I am from the cold worries of winter,
From that gnawing permanence
And the rejoice of warm spring.
I am from the two venus violets.
(Mulberry to Sunset Orange,
Choosing it all the same)
I am from a twice, thrice erased page
Littered with endless ideas and people
Who can’t help but echo in my brain
Until I write them on that paper limb.
I am from old anatomy posters,
Crinolines under retro dresses,
The accidentally pretentious,
All the try-hards and oddballs
And the rambling storytellers
Who bring you to the pealing peaks of laughter
And the eerie thickness of unease.
I am from a teacup
Littered with twenty shades of lipstick
And brewed in seven hundred times over
For camaraderie staves off the cold.
I am from the beauty of life,
The machinery that creaks and grinds
But never lets me go.
I am from the upside-down images
That strain and please my eye the same.
(Turn the E on its head,
And let the world flood in)
The macabre simplicity
Of cold metal tables.
I am from a line of twisted potential
Those who found happiness beyond their drive
From dusty-covered violin, paint palette, and arcade
To which I must clear a new path
Cut down the grasses barring me
I am from a cleared fog
Turn my gaze toward a tenuous alliance
Of patellas and pages
I am from the comfort eagle edge
Fall into the safety
Of those who will catch me
For I will always do the same.
I am from those simple moments
The good old days we never knew would end
I am from closing the book
But never taking it off the shelf.