“Music” by Annie Robertson

Annie Robertson, "19, Poet

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I’m quiet, but my life is noisy
and my quilts are un-tucked,
strewn, and folded and candid,
and I’ve expended my fortunes,
shiny spoons and skewed metallic
faces. I won’t shut up,
but I’m shut out–
calibrating my brain to
sensitize grazing fingers.
The places of the most joyful
loneliness I’ve become accustomed.
Trusting the storm that spoke,
embracing arms of pine,
intertwining with my mind
and my heart pumping
pink blood–too light.
But down with the arguments.
I’m more than ready to pounce
and scratch and tear.
And I’m not scared
because I am only spare
parts and dancing chemicals,
casting spells on myself;
the wizard of the wasted.
And I tasted the sugars of
separation and despair
and doubt. And I gagged,
because I am not unsure.
I am passionate.