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I Am

A Poem

By Michelle MorrisPublished 5 years ago • 2 min read
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I am from Thoreau's cabin yet I have always somehow feverishly written with Whitman's pen. Poe never fully accepted the affair but would, when feeling neglected, creep into my dreams, nestle close against my frontal lobe and invade.

I am from these images, half dark and half light, and from his hauntings that at times would grip too tight. When these musing came, T.S. Elliot never failed to interrupt. He'd crash on the couch and demand that he, too, not be ignored. I am from these wuthering heights.

I am from their worlds and of their words; sails, someone once called them, which continue to bring me, though rare, absolutely brilliant black outs.

Reality is not all it's cracked up to be. If it were up to me, fantasy. Every time.

I am from syllables, verse, and tone. Attitudes formed with each construction and attitudes found in each deconstruction as their voices screamed, "Run wild, girl. You're one of us. Get lost. You'll eventually find your way."

I am from broken bones, bruised knees, and beaten hearts that have allowed me to fall, mistake, learn, rise, and reinvent. Who's that girl? I'm here. You just have to look close enough and that only comes if I let you. Don't squint. It won't do you any good.

I am from the unattainable dream when Quixote revealed his sword and from Dali's continual obsessive quest to discover the perfect color red. I am from, "Aye. Madre mia De Guadalupe. Dios mio. Mi hija. Mi hijalita." Yo soy. I listened and admired my mother's beauty from afar. The language was vast and unknown yet familiar. Somewhere I knew it, too. Yo soy. Escuchame.

I am from, "Under no circumstances whatsoever. You're contributing to the downfall of society." I rebelled and never thought my rebellion was a bad idea. Repeat. Like it. Do it again.

I am from my dad's mystery, my brother's god's eye, and my mother's intuition. I am an Irish brew mixed with a Mediterranean mold. I am from the time she found her way home.

I am the spirit that ran naked in fields. The girl who conquered beasts in the unknown forests. I am the college dame that stormed castles and watched fireflies make their way into the twilight.

I am the woman who contributes to the downfall of society. I am the woman he understands. He is the man I allow to invade and never ignore.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Michelle Morris

teacher, wife, godmommy

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