What I Make of Me

In my hand I hold a sword

To defend or to slay?

As one you are the victim

And the other you have prey.

Future odds determined by what

A past has written.

What good is old and wise

If I withhold my secrets?


Are you listening?

This is very important.


I am me and me is her

Her is she and she is three

Waddling beneath the branches of a

Towering peach tree.

I am from overalls

From the caterpillar garden

And plastic log cabin.

She is from chili and 6’5”

From Bill and Patt

“Livin E-Z king of crabs”

And the “soul in the soft white chairs”

Her shortcake escaped on an extendable fork.


One pair of feet pattering to undefined rhythms.

Dancing gets the blood flowing,

Flowing blood keeps you alive.

Dancing is essential to survival.

Reason rationalizes everything.

Just because I’m grown up

Doesn’t mean she can’t learn.

From myself

I am.

She will.


Break a window.

Not on purpose and not one of yours.

At a young age is best, just like when

You should learn to whistle.

Tell a lie at some point;

Try to make it necessary.

Never lie when the truth is needed

And the other way around.


Build a fort in her bedroom;

Invite all of my friends over.

Offer tea, pour milk.

Sleep under the stars,

Undaunted by cloudy skies.


Her past

Is my poetry

She will read



She is her and her is me

Me is I and I am…



Whatever I believe.

Just remember that fear and hope

Are both residents of the

Same civilization

Participants of an antediluvian cycle

Falling under the same perimeters


That the only thing strong enough to cut a


Is itself.


This poem is about: 
My family


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