4-13-09

There are a million thousands of them and only one of me.
they hide, sometimes right on the television where
No one will suspect that they are real.
They sometimes appear in numbered formation. usually they
Ramble about slouched and barely awake in front of the mirror.
They pause too long and too often. They rarely drive at an appropriate speed.

Even the ones who pretend to be gentle are almost always
Concealing secret hostility. They talk about your mother’s cooking
Claiming to know all of her temperatures, all of her spices.
They punch you in the face with their wisdom and dare you
Not to take it seriously.
Taking it seriously is the most dangerous thing you can do.
They claim they want to share.
What they want is for you to carry the trinkets they’re afraid to throw out.

Like most things, people recognize you by how you look.
They see where one part of you stops and the next begins
And assign value based on how well you are broken.
I want to be known by my rambling vastness.
I want to be judged by where I do not pause.
You can tell the path in the woods because
Nothing grows on it. It makes it smooth to walk.
I claim my birthright as a squirrel.
I choose fingernails stained with the blood of climbed trees.
I want to shove it all in my cheeks
Spit it back half chewed just as things start to get cold
Get clean get all polished oh how I hate the stink of your polish.
I’ll let you see what I am instead of how well I reflect.
Working to remove flaws is working to eradicate trust.
To love beauty is to live for sadness.


-