I’m
twice-born, a passport to hell, gripping and grieving life.
Speak
of happiness, a crooked design, as coquettish as a
kiss.
I love it in degrees, the eyes of a child, to soon feel
pressures.
What am I: a fleet of wishes, a jaded muscle, to
spoil
a longstanding dream? I’m a cedar-chest, filled with
hopes,
speaking to grandmother. I’m something more, a
golden
cross, socially crucified. I’m, too, a teacher, to touch
regrets,
proud to earn an A. It’s more the aches, the roots of
angst,
crawling through pits. I thought of life, to want a
forbidden,
mourning forbidden. How would I give, a broken
soul,
fraught with wants, and desperate for life? I was too a
dream,
a fastidious stream, narrow and judgmental. But I’m
twice-born,
a purple aroma, a sky-blue sorrow. Every fiber,
a
sudden glance, everso dusty, and filled with demons. We
feel
this way, a dusky moon, damn near astonished. I’m
disheartened,
feeding pigeons, and gripping clumps of grass.
It’s
was ever a sun, a fabric of happiness, chasing a rainbow.
