A Room of My Own

So many things incomplete –

My stories, my flight, my thoughts,

And the words on my tongue.

Pens scattered on the floor,

Blank pages in several diaries,

While my mind curls to eat more –

To eat more words, stories, wars, poems, and men.

Brew it all together

With nightmares, tears, obstinacy, and a hint of ren.

Moving like that cold and heavy silent storm,

And rain down, forcefully, singing aloud.

So yes, I’ve imagined my release. 

So many things done –

My degrees, my plummet, my appetite,

And my first jump.

A pile of love letters in one corner,

Box of knives struck in back in another,

While my body continues to wander –

Near roses, mountains, streams, and friend,

Smell, climb, dive, hold – I was no longer condemned.

So many things to do

My songs, my words, my garden

And a room of my own.