I am I am I am I am
if only I could scream louder,
she thought to herself,
they might know what I really am.
I could scream, scream, SCREAM
until my lungs burst –
oh, but that wouldn’t do any good.
the blood would drown my meaning,
and no one would see the bottom of the glass.
perhaps I could write a letter
to the nearest radio station,
finding her ballpoint pen,
with vindicating verbs and nefarious nouns
explaining myself to a T:
I really am…
and they could read it aloud!
no, no, I should do it all on my own.
what if I whispered to the grass?
no use, I know well what happened
to poor Midas! and what use is it to tell
the grass, when the grass never replies,
but only goes around telling falsities
about the truths it has been told?
no use, no use, the grass is no use!
I could write it like a speech or poem,
choosing the words and letters with great care,
and even which direction they go in.
holding the paper at an angle,
for|straight|is|too|uncomfortable,
yet
...............zig-zags
.....cramp
my
...............hands.
no matter, I should start where it is most important:
I am I am I am I am!
yes! a poem would be just right.
I wouldn’t even need to speak,
but instead everyone could read:
I am I am I am I am
as if they were inside my brain.
sighs and puts down pen,
only, now that I know which method to use,
I don’t know exactly what I am.
---
I easily went too far with formatting but it was much too fun and it felt right! This is out of the norm for me and slightly nonsensical, and yet it does have a deeper meaning if one looked hard enough. I'm not sure it's enjoyable, but I enjoyed it.
