i am, i am, i am

sylvia plath bragged

and so do i

i think therefore i am

therefore i am what i think

it doesn’t sound christian

but all i really need is me

what i mean is, my mind.

my brain, everything i know and think

i couldn’t live without the noise and quiet and bright and dark and

my memories especially

though already those slip through desperate fingers

i fear

that damning disease my grandma sunk under

that i pray does not wash over me.

i can’t lose myself

my life, my thoughts, and memories

those are mine and mine and mine

and i won’t them go

i’ll hold on with white-grip knuckles

until i’m on to the next great adventure