I am a song.
I sing identity,
shape,
sorrow,
color,
doubt,
ache,
smell,
story.
I play my rhythms carefully - cohesively - carelessly - disorientedly.
I am a note on a page
in a piece
of a collection
of an anthology.
I am small,
I am weak,
and no one remembers me.
I stand on one leg,
a bleed from one strike
of a pen.
By myself
I am nothing,
but I still exist
to create something
with every other bleed.
And we will make music
because we are not mistakes.