i am genius & i won’t say that again.
you won’t believe me anyway.
what is brilliance in a vacuum?
to think i would be so enamored with mortal bubblings.
before i knew what i was, I WAS, & knowing was the best thing for me.
yet, after knowing what i am, i am, & will be: all i have left.
i am the coagulation of so much wonder.
this body been a bxtch, i just call her one now.
i write my own anthems. make you sing them back to me.
listen to me now but hear what you want anyway.
i almost forget the earth is cosmic too,
that i am hung in the same galaxy of which you claim has no end.
a good night’s rest is just a temporal death,
telling myself there’s something beyond here, gets me through night.
i have left enough beautiful portraits to remember me by.
i dare this world to take me out completely.
you can’t obliterate what never was.
i am as forgotten as i am lied upon.
or i lie to myself in believing, i deserve memory.
i am made up of all who believed,
or still do; who tell my tale, or will.
in my place a flower will take the poet’s eye,
ashes to daffodils.
prepare the taxonomy for my kind, i will settle in the abyss,
not more unforgiving than the river.
i am made up of all the offerings to the dead. of each season,
restoring. telling myself that there is nothing
beyond wanting to be better than myself,
that i can bloom in the wood.