i...am
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I am…
I am a poem.
Sentences you throw together when you stop and think.
Words that flow together on paper with ink.
Each letter perfectly imperfect.
Each word furiously thrown down in love or anger.
I am a kind, mixed child
I wonder if I will ever be excepted
I hear them talk about me
I see them laugh
I want to belong some where
I am kind, mixed child
I pretend everything is fine
Soaring through the waxwing slain
One sound, one bearing
None to fight the slain waxwing feign
No contortions and no appobations of collegiate youth
but the mere understanding of what
it is