i have become all the
    
          things you hate

(smoke and      bones

and         red lipstick)

but i    wonder if you

would   still   think  i

have the sun shining

outofmyskin or  that

i gave every   star its

place  in  the  galaxy.

I want to be Hemingway at the bar
and Shakespeare in the bedroom.
I want to be Dante in the classroom
but Hunter S. Thompson on the weekends.
I want to be Tolkien in the library
and Fitzgerald in the night clubs.
I want to be Poe in the gutters
but Kafka in the alley ways.
I want to be Carroll in the closet  
and Twain on the street corner.

I want you to see... us.

There.

In the background watching with a pen,
and thoughts born of words
aching to breathe.