self portrait

I AM

a brush stroke of expectation
a convenient mirror cracked by patience
twisted up in bunches of flowers that
only make me weaker as i try to fill space


I AM

a rubbery poem and the figure to go with it
a shadow you make love to
in order to compose yourself
brick by riddle by brick

I AM

the kind of fire you don’t have to kindle
the flames reflect on waves
the oxygen exists by misgivings
so that every breath i breathe is forgiving

I AM

losing my grip on the graphite that
certifies the sketches in my head
a disaster of nerves battling
starlight and sunrise intentions

I AM

a model of your history
all the things you cant see
you cant remember and i can’t take anymore
just fall in scribbles collapsed on the floor

I AM

your fault