What Comes After Seven?

I am one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. 

Self-awareness introduced itself to me today 

Explaining me as the selflessly pretentious unhappy 

Marriage of wisdom and naïveté. Optimism is their pet dog. 

But most of all, I have just learned that I can make my own jigsaw puzzles 

By arranging the friends I met in the dictionary 

I am taught this by my third grade art teacher, Ms. Ata. 

This is before I sold the dog to pay the mental taxes 

Before I began pulling my wooly, licorice hair out 

Before I began mistaking the hunger of my heart 

For the hunger of my stomach 

Before the French kisses of knowledge and ignorance 

seemed at all tantalizing or paradoxical. 

For now, everything is as light as my limbs 

and that's great because my lunchbox is heavy as it is 

But my thoughts are starting to gain weight 

And stanzas are the best freight trains I know. 

In all my dreams I am a child. When I close my eyes, 

I am always one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

I can't count my years on two hands any longer, but

I am always just learning to express myself 

To no one because that's who cares 

I still try to craft portals back to reality 

Using jigsaw puzzle pieces. I still draw pictures of a dog.

And I won't stop trying until I find out what comes after seven.