I AM MADE UP OF
i am made up of
UNDER MY BED
of my soul
INSIDE OF MY HEAD
that keep my heart full
I AM THE SCARS
i am the sound
ON MY THIGHS
AND THE BRUISES
and the smell
ON MY HIPS
of the sea
I AM THE GHOST
i am the kiss
I AM FORGED FROM
i am forged from
THAT FLOODS ALL
in my chest that
OF MY BRAIN
blossom and thrive
I AM EVERYTHING
i am everything
EVIL AND I AM
beautiful and i am
ALL THAT'S INSANE
all that's alive
The Recipe of Me
Sunshine - I will bring you light and love you like no other
Vinegar - Unless you piss me off
Cement - I can be stuck in my ways
Mink - I can be soft and silky and cozy to cuddle
Booze - I'll try to intoxicate you to forget your woes
Song - It's in me and I gotta let it out
Dark Chocolate - I can be sweet, but sometimes with a little bite
Jasmine - I'm a little exotic, if only in my imagination
Titanium - On the outside, when I have to be
Marshmallow Fluff - On the inside, always
Shake me and bake me. Serve me with a dollop cream and eat me with a spoon. If I'm not to your liking, then I'll try a little harder.
I am made of water,
some connective tissue,
some bits of bone to
hold my flesh as a canvas
between beams, art abstract,
meaning up for interpretation,
flesh wrapped 'round viscera
viscerally reacting to
life in general, as it were,
nerves and neurons that still
remember the first time the
ground knocked the wind out
of me, drop-kicked by gravity,
children’s laughter, then concern,
‘hey, are you dying?’
Onwards rumbling towards
a sun setting over my horizon,
inching closer a league at a time,
there are no breaks,
don’t enjoy the scenery,
find a meaning before it’s
too late, give a damn about what
others think, let expectations
steer the wheel,
mark the road signs,
blurt from the GPS,
‘get a husband’
‘have some children’
‘get a job that boasts six figures’
eyes shifting on occasion,
out the rearview,
in the side mirrors,
watching the unbeaten paths
branch every which way,
wondering if someday I’ll
deviate from what others have so
stringently mitigated, even though
the gravel might get me a little
gritty, and I’d be more likely to lose
face their ire,
before my bones crack
and my tissues rot
and I’m all run dry,
I’d like to try
to go another way.
First get me crammed into a huge industrial blender, then on high power pulse for one whole minute, then full on blend until only a sludge remains.
Pass me through a muslin cloth into a deep pan to remove fragmented spectacles, belt buckle, buttons, zips and other non biotic particles. Once done, get the deep pan onto an industrial burner and bring to a rolling simmer, skim from the top of the liquid fats and liquified bile, then reduce to half its quantity.
Once you have this, decant me into a suitable sterile container and refrigerate for one whole day.
Remove from refrigerator once cooled to reveal my constructive layers as follows;
5% Unnecessary criticism.
15% Biomass waste
5%. Suppressed ambition
5%. Regretted decisions
10% Distorted reality owing to being severely fucked over as a child.
20% Creative Talent
45% Negativity Due to age.
5%. Empathic Awareness.
And remaining residue is wasted opportunities and should be classed as such and taken outside and shot.
The Moth,Flame,Or Something More Simply Explained?
A flame has a certain popular connotations with creative types.
That wild unpredictable uncontrollable burning energy.
That is not what I mean.
No, we're talking the primordial fire, comfort glowing until you are too warm to stay lest you burn like a moth. Or because you realized with sooted eyes every fire must give off some smoke.
Known critics have watched me and forgotten me as quick when my flame burned unpleasantly.
Other times I am everyday simple.
The life of the moth has a certain familiarity. I am drawn to many shining lights of souls and adore how they glow. Flying far, amazing in my own mind. All too easily burned by the all things I don't know. Zapping me with careless considerations that stick and longer. Questions of why, who was, and what could doing now.
Other times I am everyday simple.
There is too much and then there is very little. Then other times there is the ordinary of anyone. There are the cautions and disregards. There is the desire for greater things. There is the thinking too much and obsessing and balancing emotions.
There is the simple, somewhat
mothy, sometimes smoldering
slightly more than average me.
These are the constants that built me
I am made of my mothers big eyes that can see right through people.
I'm made of my fathers laugh that has the ability to hold people in the action itself.
I'm made of my brothers' loud thoughts and quiet actions and superior music taste.
However, I'm not only made of characteristics but also objects-
(Such as the ocean and its habit of never knowing where to stay
And the stars and their power of shining only in the darkest moments.)
I'd like to think I made myself but it's way more complicated than that. But if anyone was to ask me this in person, I think I would say.
"I'm made of whatever you want me to be made of." Because that's much easier than opening up.
A girl, waiting on the world
I am made of much me than people see. I know I am far unlike the others. I don't gossip and I don't snicker at love. I don't mind in alone. In fact, I quite enjoy it. And though I love to look beautiful, it is still different than normal. Different from the straightened hair or MissMe jeans.
I do not have the one-day confidence only because I look gorgeous that one day. I have a constant confidence. I know what they all see though. They see ego and arrogance. I won't apologize for them being blind. I won't apologize for standing straight or my knowledge of my true amazing nature.
If this is not what they see, they may see me as uncaring. Truly, I have become bored of the high school routine. And when bored, I do not care. It is a mind-numbing place where I am in chains. Nothing ever new, nothing ever changed. It is always the same.
You may see indifference. And often times, I am. I despise niceness. But I adore kindness. Nice is fake. Kind is real. And I know the differed of the two the moment I meet you. Don't give me your pointless conversation starters. Go a bit deeper, and then I will grab a shovel, and dig on down to our souls with you.
While with school, I seem to barely scrap by, you have not seen me behind closed doors. You do not know the things I accomplish when know one is there to watch. You do not see the world I have created. You do not know the people I have made and met. You do not know the music made. You do not see the piles of papers dedicated to it all. You do not know an inch of the beauty behind me.
Though I manage in school, you will see it all truly when you no longer see me day to day. And you will wonder what such a life is like. You will wish for mine yourself. For when I am in my realm, when I am able to do what I greatly wish to do now, you will know that I was not just a girl. I was the girl, simply waiting on the world.
I am made of disappointment
Flesh and bone and aching
I am made from agony
Pain in every angle
I am made from tragedy
Shaping me bent and crooked
I am made from hunger
From fear in the night
Suspicion, anger, self loathing,
But what you are made from does not make you
The same thing that makes pencil lead also makes a diamond.
I am strong
I am bright
I am wanted
I am loving
I am loved
I am kind
I am capable
I am a pessimist with a good heart
I am not broken
Even if I am crooked
Believe me I’m not holding back
This is what made of: gymnastics chalk( from the bar) I'm made of the injuries that make me stronger. I'm made of friends and family that help me and make my life better. I'm made of the life that has formed me and let me be talented in a unique and fun sport.( gymnastics). Im made of the fresh air and green trees that surround me. I'm made of the wet rain that pours down on me. Im made of the Seahawks. I'm made of prose. I'm made of all the people around me and all of the life happening around me.
When you're a kid and they say
snips and snails
and sugar and spice
you think that boys really wag like tails
and girls are only nice
and the moment you say
to that dress so nice
that you'd rather wear ripped jeans...
the need of the world to
quantify who you are
qualify what you can be
begins making it hard for us to see
we are everything.
I was maybe fifteen
when that fire red haired girl said,
"Amazon," with such intent
I laid to rest my need to be made of sweet
and danced with the warrior
I'd yet to meet.
When I was older
by a decade
and the weight
instead of release,
and I heard myself say.
"A part of God is me,"
with such passion
I laid to rest my need to describe
who or what I am.
No need to decide
or ride some invisible line
or search for some sign...
This sack of flesh
is so much more.
I could write you metaphors
about rock-soled feet
and angry bones;
and beaming souls...
I think it is better to speak the truth.
I am of the sun and stars and moon.
I am the roots and the tree and the fruit.
I am the seasons, the weather, the air.
I am the quasars, and black holes,
and I the wooden winding stair.
I am the buildings and their iron beams.
I am the empty space in between
atoms and thoughts in your brain.
I am the flood and the desperate need for rain.
The energy that created the universe?
Mine is the same.
You tell me,
how csn you quantify