I Am Not Who You Think I Am

I am not who you think I am
My skin is oily and my hair is like silk
I am urging my own self up from beneath the surface and emerging caked in mud
i am without face and without faith when I see you
Wiping away darkness my skin falls away like night
I am not what i meant to be what i woke up this morning
i am not recognizable to that self that self that thought today might be the day
That made a difference
there is silence in my sirens
And I don’t know how far the sound carries when I don’t have the words
The end to language, the end of language is that point where poetry begins
Where language strecthes itself to its bounds, taught on its frame and spills around the edges we crane our necks to see round, but two d, don’t tell me, you think you got x-ray
I can’t forget the first time she spoke to me her words, like ivory like tusks that gored me that scored my heart and left light in the holes
I was drenched in the persperiation of her tongue as it twisted did back flips and forgot to pay gravity its respects
i thought of her then, her timing her rhyming schemes that can’t be bound in because they don’t listen to eachother but lucidly, transluscently remember times when things such as these were said
I desvcribe what I hear and know it in detail but can’’t seem to formulate the new reality, the creativity is in the minuteness of stretching, the growtyh is in tearing and restretching
I am not to be grafted I do not understasnd your logic and I am perhaps deformed and forgotten, so thick is my limb that I forget to take steps to make sure I can and I root into ground and forget my own movement
I am not to be broken, I forget my own name sometimes, at night in the dark
I call ot to self but no one cals back because the bitch is mad that baby is so impersonal
I call out and I name you, name her, name boyfriends past but they call only back in echoes framing something somoeone I do not recognize, there is blackness in that forgetfulness of self and it shines