Gods on fire. I wouldn't **** on it's teeth
to put out the flames. I imagine it
started as an Easter Rabbit, a Santa Claus
and grew into a monster.
Outgrew the cage. Outgrew a master.
I don't believe it's real.
I am pretentious and without culture,
illiterate in compassion,
and wear empathy like a merit badge.
It's actually almost sad
to say out loud, but I'm the closest thing
I have to a voice of reason.
Reason?
I was born in a rush, was an accident,
they say childbirth is a miracle,
but it looks like satanic ritual.
My father was pagan, my mother is christian.
She chose my name last minute
[the story I heard was that it was
a street sign].
They expected a girl.
I'm not strong in frame,
not masculine in stature or mind;
People tell me I talk to much
and I find it hard to disagree.
Volumes of words I purge
into kitchen sinks/ wandering eyes/
drifting minds/ and every word
floats ahead of me like an envelope,
yet every letter is empty.
So many definitions, shades of me,
so much **** and sunshine,
and it's all equally weightless.
A trivial guessing game...
What my name should have meant,
should have been,
an idea I could have played metaphor to,
but,
instead this mess is arbitrary.