I am the moment you decide to crumble, instead of continue to shove it all down

I am the whirlwind that comes in, makes a mess of the whole environment, then disappears before you can admonish it

I am a stubborn crumb, hiding in your keyboard, screwing with the letter p, until you finally wise up and get the can of compressed air

I am the name on the tip of your tongue

I am the cache of socks lost from the dryer

I am the ripple in the potato chip

I am the burst setting on an M16

I am the pole

I am everything you think I am, but not at all the way you think

But mostly, and completely,

I am.

I am the end of time

through fractures of light

I am a shadowed face

as you struggle to wake

I am morphed answers

to important questions

I am a shallow breath

on your dying day

I am the dust that scatters

over open highways

I am nothing and

nowhere without you

I am not what you label me to be,

though you feel you are employed to tell me what you think, what you feel, or how I can be a better use to society.

What you fail to realize is that I’ve already heard those words, from myself, from the all too regular passersby on the street.

But that’s not what defines me.

There’s no need to go any further, because at the end of the day,

I determine what definition I want my name to read.

It’s all too easy to say just leave,

but have you felt the iron fist of love hit you on the cheek?

Have you put in the time to heal your wounds, yet remain loyal to your commitment to the one you vowed you’d never leave?

It’s harder than you think,

especially when you stand by hoping for it to change.

It’s harder than you think.

There’s no need to go any further, as I contain more strength and fortitude in my swollen eye, than you produce in fifty-two weeks.

My shortened hair is like a beacon to you.

It’s been ten years since we last shared words, yet here you are with your keystrokes of sorrow as if you’ve been here indefinitely.

There’s no hand to hold or a warm embracing squeeze,

just the coldness of kind words shared digitally.

I am more than the diagnosis I received.

There’s no need to go any further, as every remaining hair on my head contains an accomplishment, I set out to achieve, or a memory I had once created,

or a life I helped inspire to believe.

My thickened armor is not here by choice, contrary to belief.

It’s not a product of laziness or lack of responsibility,

yet you don't hear my explanation and continue to chisel away my exterior with your daggers and blades, attempting to form what you deem a perfect human being.

My armor exists, in part, as a symbiotic response to your misguided needs;

A habitual overdose to fill the void, to cover the pain, and to ignore the hate.

My Armor Protects me.

There’s no need to go any further, as I am more than just on the surface or skin deep.

My whole body is molded with perseverance and shaped with the idea that one day

I will be happy. I am happy.

I am not a freak.

Look at you, looking at me.

It seems you are vicariously living in my shoes trying to man the helm,

when it's you who's lost at sea.

I am not a label, a bruise, an illness, or what I eat.

Despite what society deems to be proper, at the end of the day, I am Unique.

There is no difference between you and I. We just view things through a different set of eyes.

There's no need to go any further.

in·

crisis;

i cannot

decide

what makes me

me.

words

are cheap

yet i still

cannot afford them,

going into debt

every time

i open

my mouth.

de·

nial,

i can pretend

that i am nothing

reject

the labels

yet even still

i find myself

searching

for a truth

that doesn't exist.

i can't even accept

my own

ambivalence.

ci·

rcumvent

the requirements

ghosting the universe.

it called

and i did not

pick up.

i danced my way

around

my identity.

if i can

avoid it

then maybe

it isn't

real.

yet even as i

revel

in ambiguity

i know

i must make

a deci-

sion·

i have to decide

who i am

or else someone

will do it for me

and i'll choke

on their words.

i need to find my own.

if the words

don't exist,

i will invent them

because without them,

i am

indecision

and nothing else.

Je suis

la plage

waves driftin’

o’er sands

of time

Je suis

la dame

waitin’ for

the flight

ready to

embark on

plenty adventures

Je suis

l’artiste

tryin’ to

create a

fresh/new

combination of

tones/colours

& tints!

Je suis

La Zambienne

who sits

waitin’ for

her ancestors

to guide

her as

I come

to face

Mt. Everest

in other

places, towns

—far…away-

~from home

Je suis

Une Reine.

#JE #SUIS (c) 08/12/2022.

I am climbing trees and the windy breeze

Splinters in my fingers and bee stings by my knees

I am walking on thin ice and waiting to fall through

From minding my business and heading to my room

I am mirror images and mixed-up names

Of being known and not allowed to complain

I am blue fingers and blue toes

Of a skinny waist and a little nose

I am corn fields and car rides

Of long drives at midnight

I am lightning bugs and counting stars

Of learning constellations that we claim as ours

I am pencils and notebooks and pens

Of classrooms and hallways and tests

Of paper spilled out over the dining room table

And a porch with a light that never goes out

I am sunset and sunrise

tired eyes and long goodbyes

I am papercuts and library books

the green rocking chair and goodnight moon

I am a foam sword with a steel name

a picture worth a thousand words but left without a frame

I am.

I am

I am quiet

I am loud

I am there

do you see me

I am there in the crowd

Invisible

Like a ghost

I am gone

I am a shell

I am struggling

I am smiling

but

I am not happy

I am dying

We are all dying

Slowly

painfully

I am dead

I am there in the ground you see

I am getting covered

by thick brown dirt

I am there being watered by rain

I am forgotten

.i.a.m.o.n.l.y.n.o.i.s.e.

a meaningless bother inside my head

i.a.m.b.a.n.g.b.a.n.g.

the lemon of marmelaide

.i.a.m.t.h.e.s.t.r.i.n.g.p.u.l.l.e.d.

you seek me to turn out the lights on your reality

i.a.m.s.w.i.s.s.c.h.e.e.s.e.

but in a sinful, unholy way

.i.a.m.a.n.o.f.f.b.e.a.t.

the dairy queen negro maid

i.a.m.s.o.u.l.o.f.s.w.e.e.t.

purity means i go to fuck-in church every sunday

.i.a.m.m.i.x.e.d.c.o.n.t.e.n.t.

rated xxx at times of sex appeal and chocolate

i.a.m.i.n.d.e.n.t.s.

a paragraph of bitterness

.i.a.m.t.h.e.e.x.t.e.n.d.e.d.l.i.p.

pulled over the chin to hide the phat

i.a.m.w.i.t.h.o.u.t.w.i.n.g.s.

no escape to comfort me, i just bleed and bleed thru me

.i.a.m.p.r.i.n.t.l.e.s.s.

no crime can stick to my name

i.a.m.n.o.i.d.e.n.t.i.t.y.

not much of anything, but gone away

.i.a.m.n.o.t.h.i.n.g.

i create and create, but remain the same

i.a.m.v.o.i.d.

identical to the pupil, vacancy

.i.a.m.a.w.a.k.e.

sleep tight.

I am the distance

He who makes the powerful appear small and dismal from afar

He who warps one's perception to something unrecognizable

But also he who lacks any interest in connection

And any sense of direction

The distance grows cold as though we all are

just as much as it allows us to view nearly every star

I am the storm

He who brings about life in a forceful swept

Drenching parched plants as though a giant above them had wept

He who brings about salvation with such passion

But also he who accidentally destroys

As though the world were nothing but toys

And who's appearance is fleeting so no one enjoys

I am the badger

He who grows enticed by glitters and gold

And burrows with mighty claws into the below and cold

He who is persistent and never gives up without a fight

Even from things that cause a fright

But also he who burrows in brittle land

only to be suffocated and become the cold

I am the fog

An ever-changing shape and indistinguishable

One may even say invincible

He who offers a hiding spot to those who are weak

Despite it's nature being meek

But also he who forces the light to surrender

And makes everything appear moldy and dreary

It's a lot, the things I am and could be

Even now I am not certain of all of me

A man of light and darkness

Giving way to abstract and absurdness

Who creates just as much as he destroys

And takes the time for all his enjoys

It is this that means

I am free

I am

or not

No...

I am

At least

I believe I am

How do you define

the undefinable

The conscious mote

The dust which speaks

No...

I am

Or at least

I believe I am

I am the sand in the Sahara

I am a million billion grains

A sea of probability

Of possibility

Of imperfection

Of everything

And nothing

Sometimes I wish

I was

Thoughtless soul

Dunes caressed by father sun

And mother moon

I will return

One day

I am

At least

I believe