Look, I never said I was that smart.
I say stupid stuff all the time.
It's not like I'm always awake.
I'm rewriting my life story.
But we all wish some parts of our lives were different.
I'm rewriting my DNA make my skin less red, my spine less curved, my mind less distracted, to make my body hurt less.
I'm rewriting my backstory, one where I didn't worry about much other than my life at home. I never told anybody how dangerous my life used to be...
Your average human body has hair, a head, arms, legs, a torso, hands and feet, eyes, ears, a brain and heart...
But if my body is made of music, are my arms mallets? Are my legs the legs of a piano?
Is my heart the drum that my feet will always follow? The metronome that my body will always follow?
Is my DNA coded in sheet music?
Are my hands the baton? Are my fingers the keys? Is my spine a xylophone, each vertebrae a singular key?
Fact: The average human body will eventually narrow down to only 207 bones. Are my 207 bones each a separate instrument? All part of the orchestral body,
If they say music never dies, do I die?
Does my soul live on generations after I am gone? Will people still remember me?
If my body is made of music...
Will you still listen?
Even if the song is over?
Matrixes of information,
Complexity arising from simplicity,
DNA twisting up into the heavens,
Chemical compounds composing central axis,
Compounding the data of the human genome,
In a helical twist, folded into compacted perfection.
From the mighty general who sends men off to war,
To the parasite who feeds on others,
To the beast who wanders the woods, or the bacterium that thrives,
On a microscopic level.
All are made similar by Strings of genetic code.
Almost as great or powerful an equalizer as death.
In most cases even more so.
My friends like to make jokes about how I only date guys that look gay
Don't laugh, because it's partially true
I like long hair,
That's probably problem number one,
But I just want something to run my fingers through, something to braid when I'm bored
It's also probably because I fall in love with musicians
My ideal man is Roger from Rent
A guitar playing, napkin lyric writing heroine addict
Yes, I fell in love with him when I was 12
Cigarettes and leather were always my thing
How horrible the plot
the hem, the haw
of the incessantly violent
How sad the politic
the row, the scorn
the media howl, the noise
We are drifting in a sea
of bobble head puppets
backstabbing, mass murdering
and we are loosing the battle
before it's even begun
So go ahead now
and trade in your votes
sell off your rights
buy a backfiring gun
Because nothing is worse
than trying to reverse evolution
and you can't crawl back
into the womb of your Mother
once you've destroyed
the primordial ooze
of creation's lubrication
for a dollar and a cheapened dream's
Whoa! I lost it!
Did you see where it went?
Is it on the table, maybe in the tent?
It's not like it's RNA
Or simple stomach acid
It's not easily subdued, by using an antacid
Dropping cells everyday
In every way and place
Depositing myself, in the human race
Fear not that you may be collected
And your DNA then filed
Used for experiments, unsanctioned and so vile
Somewhere in Mississippi, is a guy with a DNA sequencer making a giant human alligator hybrid Ewwww. (you know it's true:D)
My ancestors are all around me. Aspects of my self here to serve as self realization. The seemingly uncontrollable thoughts, and untamable emotions, are merely projected by your egoic identity.
Separate... We pretend to be.
My ancestors are all around me. Disguising themselves as human bodies. DNA copies. Like papers, duplications of the original.
~ ♢ ~
of your hair
a glimpse a
~ ♢ ~
Copyright © 2016. Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved
The process of creation
Instant in a flash of light through the spoken Word
Or fertilized in the womb
Or sprouting underground
Maybe born of the heavens long ago
Before earth and sun
Born of the stars, exploding into the universe
Or within the volcano
Deep inside the earths core
Born of the waters, the streams and waterfalls
The rich colors of the untouched forest
Initiated in the sounds of night, birdcalls and the occasional howl in moonlight
Sons and daughters of thousand year old oak trees, acorns falling, scattering
Conceived in the deepest and darkest oceans, unaware and uncaring about the mythical surface world
Carried upon by the wind accross the world, currents and pathways charted by the birds and the monarchs