Sometimes I forget that I'm powerful. I forget often that the child of my voice is mesmerizing. I forget that I'm shining. Who can move with gracefulness, leaving a cure of formless ripples in a pool of tame water? I can make mesmerizing out of a mess of mold and ash and shards of glass.
I don't know why I forget, but I sometimes do. I think it is a matter of density. Limits to what my mind can hold before some things need to spill out. I remember the wealth of others. Their statures. Their beautiful hazel eyes when mine are only brown. I remember that yesterday one stood above me and I was trifling.
I feel so slight sometimes. As frail as the leaves trembling outside my window. Jittery on an elm tree. Just about to fall off. It's almost October and you would know it just by dipping yourself into the cool milk of a Brooklyn street. Everything is softening. I see men wearing coats when before they wore shorts. My skin is even shaking because I haven't decided yet to put on a sweater. One tan like me.
I'm unsure of my own exquisite visage. Is it like the coin I found in my pocket this morning, smeared up and down, addled with age and filth?
I don't know why I forget, but I sometimes do. I think it is a matter of density. Limits to what my mind can hold before some things need to spill out. I remember the wealth of others. Their statures. Their beautiful hazel eyes when mine are only brown. I remember that yesterday one stood above me and I was trifling.
I feel so slight sometimes. As frail as the leaves trembling outside my window. Jittery on an elm tree. Just about to fall off. It's almost October and you would know it just by dipping yourself into the cool milk of a Brooklyn street. Everything is softening. I see men wearing coats when before they wore shorts. My skin is even shaking because I haven't decided yet to put on a sweater. One tan like me.
I'm unsure of my own exquisite visage. Is it like the coin I found in my pocket this morning, smeared up and down, addled with age and filth?
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