Jan 23


I tried to learn how to fly
on wings made of pages
torn from books lost under the bed.
I tried to learn how to float
and made myself a boat
out of dreams I stored away in a box.
I take off the labels
that float above my head,
and cover my hands in paint.
I fold them all up
in a neat little stack
and paint the blank wall blue.
Slowly I lose myself in the colors
free of the things I am known as.
I don't know what I am painting
until it is already there.
Rip up my pile of labels
and scatter the shreds on the floor.
You won't find me in any dictionary.
I can't be defined in a sentence or two.
You'll find me in my colors
and in my trail of things left behind.
Wings and boats
and paintings
define who I am.
Covered in colors
from head to toe.
All free of labels
somewhere up in the clouds,
and now I'm not coming down.