i want you to know that
most of the time i am nothing
more than lost moments.
i am many things that are not myself
clumped into a soft vessel: bits and
pieces of surroundings i’ve vacuumed
into my being. i will always be
collecting seashells. and though my
vision may change, i promise
my laughter will never be stale, my
kisses will never be forced, and
no matter who you evolve into,
i will love you.
i am i am i am
nothing
yet absolutely everything.
i am my decomposing
grandmother, six feet under Michigan soil.
i am being rejected from thirteen jobs before
falling in love with the one i have.
i am the insecurity and self-hatred
i have shed like a snakeskin,
insatiable wanderlust, and
falling asleep early on a Friday night–
trying to write poetry with invisible ink
on the apartment walls in hopes that the next person
who runs their fingers on them will carry
a small piece of me with them.
i am both my aunts and my mother,
so much history for a soul
that feels much too small for its body.
i am struggling with existence these days
unsure if it’s a game or
a dream, or something in between.
Silenticel 