When I was young, I could fly.
From thought to wish to dream to the sky.
When I was becoming, I could think.
I thought I'd thought that they were thinking,
that I was simply thoughtless.
When I was discovering, I could feel.
I could feel the feelings of earth of mind of soul,
those feelings connected though fingertips and goosebumps.
When I fell, I couldn't see.
I could not see that they could see that I was blind,
the view is up when you are down.
When I was climbing, I grew strong.
Could see the bumps in the road, the connections,
the grips, the traps, the full scale of the map.

Then I saw it. Not far now.
Just another corner, my branches are full of colour and life.
I can see the flowers ready to bloom.

Spring is coming, and I am too.

Which cloth am I cut from?
In a menagerie of material
From the crude to the formal
It's frustrating
Where do I belong?
Am I him or her,
Or my very own?

i will try for us
with all my broken edges
to complete a whole




*s.q.