I’m a live wire. I’ve got points
that I make, so maybe
my words are claws that
dig in as my mind digs deeper.

Maybe if I were a philosophy,
all thought, I could be gentle
and smooth, but I am a
philosopher’s muse- all

poem, ship, part steering
wheel of emotions,
jagged edges. I am
diamonds overlaid. I’m not sorry

that my soul is sea, and salt,
and air, and turning. I’m just sorry
if you cross me and find the fact
of my existence a threat.