I do not know exactly who I am
I guess I am lost between E.E. Cummings and Steven King
I am existing solely between the words I do not understand
Understanding the words I do not know
and becoming a contradiction among Bible pages
a deep sigh between “he said, she said” and covered under layers of self worth
a heart beat faint, yet still able to be
I am lost between the I am’s, the never endings, the bad guys who always win
I become numbers at the end of my novels
crying into stolen words, gargled into throats
I be, I wait, I am, I read
over pages of poetry books
I am scripts, I am we, I am us, I am them
I am tremendous sadness but also engulfed in my own humor
I am the world's biggest bi-polar thought
I am born again
abandoned photos left in country homes, I am the failed police report
I am the last straw, the fairy-tale
The middle, the smile, the deep secret,
I am what she’s afraid to be-come
I am the veins the hold the flow of blood from heart to brain
I am rhyming words, puns, actions, fear.