“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depths of some devine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.”
“I am not a Sunday morning inside four walls
with clean blood and organized drawers.
I am the hurricane setting fire to the forests
at night when no one else is aliveor awake
however you choose to see it and I live in my own flames
sometimes burning too bright and too wild
to make things last or handle myself or anyone else and so I run.
run run run far and wide until my bones
ache and lungs split and it feels good.
Hear that people? It feels good because
I am the slave and ruler of my own body
and I wish to do with it exactly as I please”