I labor all throughout the night.
The sun rises, lays its hand upon my back,
pushes me forward.
Birds hover, singing songs—
the same lullabies
the women who changed my diapers
once whispered to soothe my skittish soul.
The sky, a masterpiece,
painted in soft Napoleon hues.
My eyes spin like a basketball on a fingertip.
My heart pulses through my teeth.
My hair grips the wind—
tearing, shearing,
dragging reality like the arms of an octopus.
This is what it feels like
to be alive.
I LOVE BEING ALIVE
The Stones Bleed Like Me 