I Was Hurrying Through My Own Soul

Look, Hasn't My Body Already Felt Like The Body Of A Flower?

Every Adjective And Adverb Is Worth Five Cents. Every Verb Is Worth Fifty Cents.

The Stars Began To Burn Through The Sheets Of Clouds, And There Was A New Voice Which You Slowly Recognized As Your Own.

I've Always Wanted To Write Poems And Nothing Else.

Also I Wanted To Be Able To Love And We All Know How That One Goes, Don't We? Slowly