I Am Poem by Sylvie B.

 Am Poem 

by Sylvie B.

I am talented.

I get washed away in the sea of a book.

As I throw the ball up, there is a moment where everything stops.

The ball is my life, the racket my controller.

In these moments, it’s adrenaline that feeds me.

My sewing machine sews my life.

Energy is just a piece of crazy fabric. 

My personality is just a bunch of fat quarters.

I am talented.

I am lonely.

No one, but the dark, flying blackness that follows me around.

Up in a camouflaged house in the trees. 

Or down in my orange bed made of yarn.

My friends are all lost in a mess of time. 

I am lonely.

I am angry.

When I’m taking out a dreaded sword to cut some stitches out.

Me, green with envy.

My sister, my parents stand up for her more.

My cousin, cute toddler on the outside.

Always taking me away from things I love, on the inside.

I am angry.

I am hoping.

Hoping that they two old crooked men in my mouth  will soon become straight. 

Wishing that my sister and I wouldn’t quarrel and have brawls. 

Hoping Christmas or my birthday is right around the corner.

A bright light in the dark, everlasting tunnel of life. 

I am hoping.

I am desolate.

Thinking into the night about why my artsy, stylish cousin had to die. 

Telling the stories of a dog who just died. 

Chasing after a cat whose spirit has already run away.

Mourning two granddads I barely met every year.

I am desolate.

I am.