have you ever found yourself out running in the sweltering midday sun and you keep thinking '******* it's hot out here, I wonder if anyone will find my body when I pass out..'

and then some nondescript thought-altering point occurs in which you decide to not only embrace the heat, but become one with it.  you feel your body melting into its' thickness, you breathe it in and it fuels you

you are transformed into solar energy that propels your legs to stride and arms to pump and your heart to heal.

alien in a fish bowl.
speckled with shame
squirming under
the microscope
of
speculation and
imposed so-called
'morals' of
those who
take it upon
themselves to
regulate
others.

jaws disengage to drop further still
to the ground.
eyes shot out needles
to pierce every exposed
inch of
flesh on
my body.

eyes wide
swell like an ocean wave
from all sides.

there is a permanent furrow in my brow.
lips downturned at the slightest
potential threat.

at 4 i was invincible
at 5 i could fly
at 6 i could talk to wolves
at 7 i was one with nature
at 8 i drew shamelessly
at 9 i was a trapeze artist
at 10 an archaeologist
at 11 i braided grass
at 12 i crushed berries to make paint
at 13 i died a little inside.
and a little more each year thereafter.

setting the stage:*  *an elementary school art classroom of apprx. 20 first graders.
At the front stands the art teacher, and nearby, the art teacher's apprehensive assistant (who, as we will later learn, also happens to be her lover).  Both teacher and assistant sport short, shaved heads and don 'mens' apparel.

'Friends, today we have an assistant  here to help us finish our clay masks.  Some of you know may know Coach L from soccer. Let's give her a warm hello.'
'Hi Coach L!' Twenty first graders scream.
What ensues? a result of the fact that children are naturally curious beings.

'ms. k, coach L is your son.  right?'         
 no, she is four years younger, but i am pretty sure four-year-olds do not
 yet have the ability to procreate          
'she your daughter then?'                                                  ­           
 still no
'is that your brother?'                                   
 my brother lives in Wisconsin
'that ur sister?'                   
i don't have a sister
'ms. k. y'all twins?'                                                          ­   
i don't have a twin
'she ur mom?'                                                  
my mom has curly hair like me
'your dad?'                                                            ­       
 my dad is much taller
'she your friend?'                                                         ­            
...........................kinda like that
'you her aunt?'                                                           ­               
'her uncle?'                                                          ­                  
'her grandma?'
'well that's ur cousin then.'          
'cuz you both have short hair and those baggy
clothes and those holes in your ears and
that same tattoo on your wrist.'                       
                                  ­                                            
no, and for the record she's not my uncle's brother's son's monkey twice-removed either                          
                                             ­                                           
'i may not know what she is, but i know what she absolutely couldn't be.
she absolutely, most cetainly, never-ever could be your lover because my understanding is she's a she and you're a she.  
....or she's a he and you're a he.
but either way that don't add up.'

carry my joy on the left.                                      carry my pain on the right.
                                    the devil collects it with a grin,
                                         our love in a ball of yarn.
[and] lavender ribbons of rain sang,
ridding my heart of mortal fight.
                        so try[ing] to be somebody, so try[ing] to feel somebody,
                        so try[ing] to leave somebody, so hard to be somebody
      [so] rock me mama like the wind and the rain,
      rock me mama like a southbound train.
                                    and if you're still breathing, you're the lucky one[s],
                                'cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.

i am fighting a disease,
so i became a ******.
my drug of choice: just to run.
to run each day with an unfeigned grit.

the medicine for my mind.
no need for a doctor to fill the prescription.
my morphine.
my high.
ease my anxious mind
and uplift my heavy heart.
calm floods my insides,
immersed in quiet rapture.
****** exhaustion settles in
and silences the disease-
those incessant, enslaving urges that regulate my every move
are replaced by stillness.
this
is bliss.