I AM MADE UP OF

i am made up of

THE MONSTERS

sunshine inside

UNDER MY BED

of my soul

MIXED WITH

mixed with

DEMONS RAGING

strawberry skies

INSIDE OF MY HEAD

that keep my heart full

I AM THE SCARS

i am the sound

ON MY THIGHS

of laughter

AND THE BRUISES

and the smell

ON MY HIPS

of the sea

I AM THE GHOST

i am the kiss

OF NOSTALGIA

of passion

HANGING ONTO

lasting for

TIRED LIPS

all eternity

I AM FORGED FROM

i am forged from

THE DARKNESS

the flowers

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

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,

observed,

desired,

abhorred,

vastly ignored,

flesh wrapped 'round viscera

viscerally reacting to

joy,

sorrow,

affection,

rejection,

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?’

Probably.

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,

destinations wild,

dreams unbroken,

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

a tire,

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.

That's me.

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.

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.

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

From suffering

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

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

and pressed

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

such conviction

I laid to rest my need to be made of sweet

and neat

and meek

and danced with the warrior

I'd yet to meet.

When I was older

by a decade

and the weight

of convictions

beliefs

became burdens

instead of release,

and I heard myself say.

"A part of God is me,"

with such passion

such peace..

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...

just BE.

This sack of flesh

is so much more.

I could write you metaphors

about rock-soled feet

and angry bones;

cautious happiness

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

infinity?