I am an unruly child; I
drink in bed and create
messes and tell lies
all the time.
I'm late, I disobey.
I don't eat over the table
or chew my food
or say I love you enough.
I exclude. I avoid.
And when I say to
behave one way
and act another,
I want you to understand;
I am an unruly child
no one to look to,
trying to guide you.

I’m not missing you; I have
my cat.
My soft little shadow.
We’re perfectly happy
listening to jazz manouche
and taking selfies on the
floor together.

I woke up this morning, miracle of miracles;
the moon wrapped me in black velvet rest
and the sun chose to shine on me once more–
the coffee is black and rich and deep and
promises countless possibilities
limited only by me.

Those who came before me
weep at my plenty; those who come
after will feel envy–what a time to be alive
surrounded by all this
genius, this beauty, this absurdity.
What a privilege to see.

I want to feel the world
with cuts on my fingers
and kisses on my wrist.

I want to know who I
am when the numbness fades.