Here I am begging for silence but
what would I do with it if I found it?
It’s not like I could capture it like a
single icecube inside this sweating cocktail glass.
Not like eye (I), mesmerized, by bright colors
techni-cally tractor-beaming TV
essence into boxed-in screen. It’s not like
silence will buy me any real traction
in this loudness war of I AM.
I AM shouting, I AM crying, I AM laughing, I AM
doubting, I AM flying, I AM falling,
I AM burning, I AM dying.
I AM = more important than you are.
I AM surveyor of all I see. I AM
tall, I AM fit, I AM sexy, I AM
smart, I AM right.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—what’s that silent sound?
Seeping through poorly caulked cracks.
i am inadequate. i am small. i am poor.
i am fat. i am sick. i am stupid.
i am shuttered. i am cluttered.
i am pondered. i am bothered.
i am wandering aimlessly. i am lost.
yes, well—OK. admission is the hardest part.
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub’s Postmodern (Prose) poetry prompt, hosted by Anna Montgomery.