A LIGHT TO WHAT I MIGHT BECOME

I blog because I am bored.
I am tired of singing every song twice.
There is no Y in I do not understand,
no U in I am made of many parts.
Do not color me outside the constructs of lines.

I own the wish to own a star,
the tiger lily with thin teeth
and enormous green-eyed blossoms.
Never come to me with the morning sun.
Do not color me outside the constructs of lives.

I am never an anxiety at sea,
the ancient growth of desert plants on the hill,
snow falling quickly, quietly, leaving tracks,
large drifts against entrance doors.
Do not color me outside the constructs of likes.

Boredom is not a state of soul.
I sing the song of sand, a wreckage of flowers
There is no I in we grow old for no reason,
and no sorcery in a hug.
Do not color me outside the constructs of lies