“I too am not a bit tamed…..I too am untranslatable”
Teachers always say
Ask yourself: in one word, what are you?
I think: What am I? Or who am I? How am I? Or why?
I ask myself everything in an effort to achieve and the questions ask me back
Echoing in my brain like a shout in a cluttered alley
Do I really want to drag my pen across the page and create myself out of synthetic black liquid?
Am I really so unimportant that I pop out of people’s brains to be put into a word?
Get pressed into six letters and seven or eight if I’m lucky?
If not, should I be worried whether I have friends who know me well enough?
Or should I be thrilled that I’m so complex
We get asked, is everybody done? Because we have to Move On.
A chorus of no
We get rewarded 30 more seconds to define our whole lives
Into an inch
On a piece of dead tree
Whatever word we choose, the effort seems futile
People around me, they write down “versatile” and “varying” to avoid the void words provide
I tap my pen on my desk and bite my lip
Fearing my personality gets chopped off on all edges, whatever word I choose
Sure, I say. Sure, I’m done
I look down at my paper, I see I was doodling the moon and sun
A picture’s worth a thousand words