I’m not a movie star
Not a doctor
No world-class pianist
Haven’t fought in a war
Don’t drive Nascar
Or overdose on Jesus
I don’t have a lisp
No dimples
No diabolical disease
Can’t stand heights
Or hate
Or bourbon
Never been in a fist fight
Won’t settle for less
Can’t resist a good song
Not a wallflower
No superpower
Haven’t seen a ghost
Never gotten arrested
Or divorced
I’m not a refugee
No plain Jane
But can’t shake daydreams
Or juggle anything
I don’t have patience
Or speak softly
Cannot conceive of life on a whim
Don’t cry much
Or think before I speak
Still no easy target
People have called me
Scary
Hilarious
Life of the party itself
Impenetrable
Singularly beautiful
And plenty more
When I couldn’t hear
Yet behold
A December baby
Capricorn rising
Made in the southern winter
Ten fingers ten toes
At the mercy of it all
Thriving nonetheless
I check the directions
Open my cards first
And arrive fashionably late to a fault
Preferring to eat dessert
On a rainy mountain morning
Alone with the windows open
My soul
All nooks and crannies
Intricacies hidden away
Left frustratingly
Humiliatingly
Undisturbed
A miner now
Treasure hunter of dreams
My back to the sun by day
The luck
The deep-cut ruts
The loneliness
A cinematic reel
Or a synopsis
Painted by number
Will have to do
My unread prose
My unwritten reality
As vibrant textiles stacked
Atop giltwood and oil on plaster
Doggedly preserved for the ages
Must suffice
Let’s hope it’s enough
Though pray tell
What does she win in the end
The lifesaver broken free from her throat
As she dangled upside down
From her mother’s hands
Just inside the doorframe
The little bow
She tied for herself
On purple pants
At nap time
Mint chocolate bunnies on
The Curio cabinet enrobed by
Invisible Halston clouds
Dead doves tumbling
Out of camouflage
Fresh off adolescence
On a tear
Peeled grape eyeballs
Fallen to the floor
As she ran screaming
From every haunted house encounter
I remember
Latchkey living
Terror hitting me
So I hit back
My head down on a desk
Eyes closed
Lights dim
A story streaming in
Soothing the resting
Through a resonant voice
As I pretended to find
A little Indian in a cupboard
Escape having sweetly made
A narrow space there
Just for me
And my pilgrimage did indeed end eventually
Delivering me here in one piece
Certainly nothing to sneeze at
Yes I am
Holding myself up
Laughing through the lunacy
Now composed primarily of
Dramatic anecdotes in perpetuity
I’m wishing
Maybe stupidly
To heal
To feel
Hoping to see
Before time runs out
Whether these loose ends
Will ever meet
Wondering what your eyes are like and
How you could think to deny me
Any possibility to better know myself
Through you
But I won’t linger here
Where no warm breast shelters me
I am deserving
Just can’t believe
I have to say it again
So please
Love me properly
Or leave me to be
A prize unto myself