I am the makeshift mind
and manifest goals
of many. I am made of oppression,
suppression, snarky looks
and half-frozen eyes.
I am from the very second
that sugar hits glazed bodies
and all but one –
even as one of many –
loses the consciousness to feel alone.

I am from dark hair, red lips
and granny sweaters.
Also, the latent function of superficial beauty.
I am still a plant in a family of polystyrene
made of the positive points in primitive nature.

I am the flamboyant sister of shyness –
a sane lovechild of schizophrenia
and motherly nurturing
from guitars, pencils, and crochet needles.
I am from the comforting shade of willow trees,
and the blistering sun on the seat of my bike.

I am infinite – like the perfect drive on
a perfect day,
yet I, too, will tremble like a spider in the rain.

I am from unspoken promises, ideals
and home-cooked meals on summer evenings,
and the nights I cozy up
and wait for a metal stork to carry me
cross-country, where the hands of palm trees
make gentle gestures
that triumph the age and closeness
of true, lasting love.