What I am

February 9, 2011
I am me, what I will be, want to be, used to be, could have been but wasn’t, what is remembered and what is forgotten.
A photo album, arranged, displayed, displaced, rearranged, viewed, and stashed
I’m the scribbled coloring books piled precariously and now misplaced
I’m the favorite teddy bear, battered, pulled, bruised, tattered, frayed, but still loyal and constant
I‘m the worn in glove capturing every homerun steal and home plate slide
I’m the diploma unfurled and framed

I am the number 9, divisible by 3 and only 3, the past, present and future, so close to a perfect 10 yet riddled with prominent imperfection.
I’m the northern star, stationary but bright, a ’67 Camaro, American born and raised
I’m the new ipod app, fresh, exciting, bold, the helium balloon floating to adventures untold
I’m the dew suspended on the widow’s web, only for a second, the sun disrupting my lazy ways
I’m the old bean bag chair, the sinking into a welcomed, embracing hug of packaging peanut love
I’m a New England macintosh red, crisp and tart at first then sweet and seductive to the fickle tongue

I’m the licking gusts of a summer breeze, then the prying hands of a blizzard gale

I am the last missing puzzle piece, the one you are looking for, the one that will complete
The wispy, elusive cigar smoke, a daydream discovered asleep
I want to be the air you breathe, the music notes and the staccato beat
No more the hiding oyster pearl, I want to be the red dress mingled among the black and white
A pirouette applauded and a multimillion investment supported like a kite
But for now I will stay the Nike shoes, the metallic braces, and the cornrow braids
Because tomorrow I will be the curtain raised





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