We are taught to use I statements.
I am part of a generation locked
into a box with mechanical
controllers, who exercise indoors.
I am things difficult because
simplicity could bring happy endings.
I am virtually stalking the world of
broken hearts and things claimed
not to be regrets.
I am staring at the clock as it goes
from midnight to noon
and wondering where the time went.
I am liking of unicorns despite. . .
I am not, will not, label not.
I am Almost Famous
to infinity and beyond.
I am not free-box underwear,
but handmade Halloween costumes,
thunderstorm forts and
puddle-splashing funorama junky.
I am eye-flickering dizzy spells
of ear aches and forgotten
massages from fantasized lovers.
I am wonderments wonderwall of
discertainty and confident walks.
I am neon orange rubbing alcohol- flavor
from golden years and
past greasy pancake lunches.
I am driving sex to work.
I am one part of greatness.
I am a Toys R Us kid.
I am once a writer.
I am not up or even down
I am 19th century Polaroid-
these pictures are fading
and turning a funny color.
I am Mrs. Robinson
with the body of a 15 year old
and I am trying to seduce you.
I am fish egg screams outlined
in tan lines, dotted with
vitamin c and GMOs’.
I am cliche velocity,
I am Scream in the old sense.
I am saying you are in my writing.
I am drooling llama- coloring book
because the colors always felt right.
I am hugging the silver fox of dreams.
I am questioning skunk aroma,
turning on the switch to star filled sheets.
I am golden tasseled- teal couches
laying on the floor amidst swaying
walls and broken ceramic pots.
I am carnival fun house,
universe painted on the ceiling-
library of fragmented sentences.
I am a directionally challenged bag
of burnt popcorn.
I am nobody’s dried hands
but my own.
I am eight up and down,
left and right
and back again.
I am remember.
I am 1:11 am red cup
full of water hardcore bitch
this is all happening.