you are too

here i am

in all i am to be

with all i was

thinking that another universe

must be possible

on the silent days lost in bed

with a large cup holding the morning together

i hear its hum

it is the whistling bird

the broken wing

the cocoon after the butterfly blossoms

it says at first as a garbled whimper

that we are raised by those

who ruined us

raw

this is not bad

it is the best

it adds

crying screaming slobbering

evidence that this thisness

is all there is

since birth

the languish of the living

the those who are not here

where i am

look

really look

despite the coffee having coolly dried

the empty bed warming in the lonely sun

i still am

and am

and am