it was dawn
when i met my creator
and he asked
why did i undo
what he did
and i said i meant
to go quietly
and not bother anyone
but i made such a mess
in the beginning
with all that fluid and form
and i was wailing and
kept doing it when i was six
when i fell and broke a leg
and thirteen when i was told
no one wanted to dance with
a limped leg always out of beat
and eighteen when i was fully bloom
but still a bud
of reverse birth – small and never
out fully to see sun or shadows
just flatness like a life line
not living
twenty three when i met my first
love and we made love
and it made us
twenty five when i was young and happy
and i was confident i was doing it
really it
all of it
whatever it was that people
told me i could and would do
it
me
and it
together
twenty eight when she said she
couldn’t be with me any longer because
she wanted something else
something she couldn’t describe
something less foggy
like morning
that burned the dew
thirty one when i was fired
thirty three when i burned my face
with a pot of oil
thirty four when i was told that my tear ducts
wouldn’t full reform
thirty five when i tried the first time
but made too much noise
and far too much fluid that i slipped
thirty six when i tried again with the advice
that it took at least 10000 hours to be
an expert at something
and i was something
something else than i thought
and now here
in front of him
and he looks at me
leaning against the sun
with whiteness around
and cries blue skies
and empty, ugly eyes
Oh how sad 😦
i’m sure there’s a happy ending somewhere, just not here
Great poem thou, just so raw