This is a patchwork poem comprised solely of my writing from the last year. It is a reminder of how much I treasure my craft, a keepsake of whom I have been as a poet, and a reassurance that I will continue to grow into myself as time passes.
I am here. I am everything
I have not yet forgotten and
maybe that which I already have.
I have stolen a stranger’s name; I
find myself on accident most days.
I long to be a poet. Electricity passes
by like crackling constellations
and, unceremonious,
I didn’t hear the tree fall.
Maybe it didn’t mean anything;
maybe they were one and the same.
I have already written a poem
about this. Tell me who I am
between the lines.
Lost time haunts and I can’t speak.
I wish I was brave. I will
search, in fear and powerful
defiance, for more than
what is in front of me.
Give me growth. There are so
many stories at the end of the
universe. I just want it to be true.
There’s time left to wonder.
I will become the namesake.
Photo by EKATERINA BOLOVTSOVA from Pexels