Look at me in this place.

This place I wanted to choke

for so long that I have now let live inside of me.

It’s taken root in the ways I’ve developed.

 

The trees picture frame my surroundings.

They make a super-cut of my time and play it for me. 

Let me watch the sky.

Let me see it again.

Around me, the things that I remember are acted out. 

 

It seems quaint, rudimentary, crude, that I ever thought I could hate you, could ever question that I am not in charge of this.

This which origamis into something much bigger than me.

This that swallows me. 

 

Together we’re ravenous. 

Together we feast and say thank you. It is because of you we are eating. 

Thank you for showing me what to do. 

Thank you for this my growth.

What I wouldn’t be without you.

What I couldn’t have seen without you wiping a lens. 

Those I never would've touched, that over which I wouldn’t have wept, laughed, drank in.

 

Listen to this: I am not done. I have more time to kill. 

What will I make of it? Let me ask this--what won’t I do?

 Don’t answer. Just wait.