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 onto battle plans

over and over again.


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