Song of Myself

Who are you?

I assume

writing will assist, poems on finding this song of myself….

I suppose

you would like

to know what my name is.

The cognitive sounds that humans have associated with my being.

The sounds that mean nothing.

I am afraid I will be sick upon this paper if I say them once more.

So I refuse to tell you my name, but I will tell you who I am.

I listen, I watch, I run and never look behind me at the people who only know my name.

I’m a wild daughter

as far as they’ve told me an orphan.

But the ominous ‘they’ is not to be trusted.

I keep watch for my brother and sisters but they are rare and in disguise.

I feel them in the air, though.

The servants of the pavement cracks

the servants of the sky.

Lovers of the dirt and grime,

we are your lowly scribes.