I Am Not..

I am not my
broken heart
twisted bone nailed
onto walls
flesh framed into the wombs
of humanity

not your
his Sheherezad
my fractured dreams pinned
to the spine of Icarus’s wings

not an ophelia
shooting for impossible dreams
or a careless daughter
Of a careful mother
or Persephone’s tears

not a jewel on
a woman’s collarbone
ribbons on her slender waits
the muted hues on the breast
of dying dawn 

I am not a
waking elegy
a misnomer
a saint
killjoy in her field of
blue jay and daisies
cinnamon in the fruitcake
she hates 

I am not

not even am I
a noun
or a verb
(probably a grammatical error
in a priestesses ode to
God )

I am not the color of
my skins never felt
the weight of snowflakes
the accent of the languages I spoke
but no one comprehends
not the opus of my voice
or the ethos of my heart

because when even pronouncing
matching color to
my forcing emotions demands finesse
of art
I am simply but a syllable away from
some days it’s just a dream
or a piece of truth soaked confession
I never wrote
but from dusk till dawn
in a city of dust
I am just “me”
lost in the thick estate of
time keeper


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