I am from the ocean,
sea salt tangled in my hair.
I am from an ancient lineage
of seers, shaman, and crazy women
believing in scattered prophesies.
I am from the cast out and the called in.
I am from a broken womb, a dead landscape
of swollen tissue, spastic limbs, a falling down
I cannot control. I am from the lexicon of cripple.
I am from a dirty secret
of my grandmother’s mother’s mother,
a mixed dialect, a faulty bloodline. A girl
no one would claim.
I am from the wanderlust
of rockstars, from those fantasies spun
out of guitars. I am from the chords
of Joni, tethered to my bones.
I speak in requiems.
I am from poetry, from line breaks
Metaphors, scene shifts and slant rhyme.
I am from performance art and the body electric.
I am from projection and creation.
I am from a lover I couldn’t hold
on to. A woman I can’t forget, a man
who traces my body, whose fingerprints
form my smile.
I am from the fragmented Zodiac,
the manipulative sisters – tattooed
skin over scar tissue and the sound
of glass breaking.
I am from a story I wrote once, a pen
I won’t put down. The exhausted scribes
of teenaged angst and track lines.
I am from survival songs.
I am from the way you see me
in afternoon light, in shades of darkness.
I am from the ocean; salt and bone
entangled. The pulling tides and I