Drinking Eridanus

I Used to Read Dictionaries

And what am I meant to be doing?

Sorting coffee grounds, nibbling pencil tips?

Staring into blank pages for untold hours to find your so-called purpose?

You are not my Grim Reaper

And I am not your wanton sheep

No, darling, I only am what I am

I am only the repository, recepticle

Re-peat, re-cite, re-gurgitate

Dear God, I am only what you have made me

Recycled fragments of my parents

The spare bits of psyche stuck together

Stitched with stands of abandoned dreams

Brought to life by way of backseat

Oh, Dear God, I have only always been this way

I didn't elect to think in language and

I didn't ask to cry in calculus

To the beat of "you stupid, stupid girl" and "God damn you,"

No, I never chose anything but letters on bubble sheets

Don't tell me stories of fruit and free-will,

I will swallow post-it notes and

At long last, show you the wound that struck deep enough

That I could finally bleed and assure myself

That I am more than clockwork