I am made of memories and dreams
and things I’ll never talk about.
Things that get lost
somewhere between dusk and dawn.
I assemble broken parts and pieces that don’t quite fit.
I turn them into something beautiful.
Line up the seams until they gleam,
build my masterpiece.

I am made of paper skin
that sometimes turns transparent in the light.
In light of the way you look at me
or don’t.

I am made of whispers
and fragments of speech.
Songs that echo from the radio
overplayed and undervalued.
The words I wish that I could say to you
that I wish I could hear.

I am made of ideals
and optimistic views.
my liberal politics that I don’t fully understand
make me better than you.
You are wrong
and I am right.
Or left.

I am made of longing
and desire
misplaced and misunderstood
latching on to each hot body in the sea
calling out and searching desperately
for someone to want me.
Anyone.
Justify me.

I am made of things that tessellate
and make a shape that might just work.
Somehow.