Turning away from the world,
I wondered instead,
Who am I?
A woman made of mud,
Of sparks and space,
Of gender and race,
Of mistakes,
And, faults,
And, miserable flaws,
Holding my breath,
And, seeking the stars.

But, I found, inside of myself,
My own internal sun,
The one,
Around which I spin.
I met with my own,
Self serving ego,
Center of my solo system,
Holding everything together.
And, my unexpected, yet inevitable,
Eternal shadow,
Cold, bold,
Extension of the void,
Survivor from long before my beginning,
Arising out of dark fears and anger,
Closest to the demon earth,
With an interest, only, and eternally,
In the protection of my deep, limbic being,
The one connected,
By fang and claw,
By tooth and jaw,
To self-preservation,
To immediate satisfaction,
To instant gratification,
To whispers of rageing determination,
To the present,
To mob mentality,
To the crushing force,
Of gravity,
To the rushing force,
Of the movements of time and life.

I have found that I am,
The vortex of reality.
Everything enters me,
Stirs me, disturbs me,
Becomes subject to my interpretations,
My imitations,
My alterations,
My infinite complications,
My folding, origami replications,
My inspections, my reflections,
Four dimensional fluctuations,
Kaleidoscopic machinations,
Colossal, multifaceted limitations,
And, of course,
My centrifugal force,
Which keeps me going.
Going ’round.
Never lets me down.
Doesn’t even let me frown.

Whether I’m losing or winning,
I am always spinning.
I am self-centered,
Self-contained, trained,
And, I am really entertained,
By the tricks of my memories,
Dreams and desires,
And, the rollercoaster of my fluctuating reality.

But, just like this poem,
I keep on going.
Full of passion,
Full of laughter.
Always something,
I’m going after.
I fit into rhythm.
I fit into rhyme.
And, my kisses,
Aren’t forgotten,
Because they really,
Are sublime.