I'm in the Poem
Write myself in this poem?
Like my own magazine with pictures of me.
Everlasting.
Weird poetry.
If I wrote down my own name?
It might turn me into a lily pad to hop onto.
Let my hair down into the words.
Let the door burst open with me and my notepad.
Extrapolate.
Expand what I know about being in a poem.
Plaid patterns and I like them.
Twitching and don’t feel anything.
Except pages.
Pen and ink of mine.
Write myself in this poem?
I’d have to be myself in a river or swamp.
Write myself in this poem?
I’d have to be…
A croaking toad.
Just for now.
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