Looking through a notebook, I found this piece I wrote in a class I took last year. The class was fun and stretched me. (I need another one.)
Who Am I
Who am I? What a question.
I is me, but that is not grammatical.
No commas only splices to be seen here.
Plain speak - rough, powerful, broken, poetic.
Who me? Yes me.
I am writer, mother, sister,
but not daughter anymore. Orphan,
poet, dog walker, chief cook and bottle swiller.
I am hypocrite and Spirit-filled,
and I am definitely what I eat.
But I'm neither a Dairy Queen nor a foot-long.
I am the center of the universe and yet sand.
Ashes to dust.