santos scribes

write these lists, of things to do 

draw lines when they are done  

and still, I leave the anchor & the crown  

off my I’s 

For a good long while 

I didn’t even capitalize them; 

they felt too loud 

too self-possessed,  

not me 

I spent time pressing

backspace & delete  

shrinking the stories of my one wild & precious life 

to fit what or where, I do not know 

I am no bell hooks 

no e. e. cummings

(never hoped to be either) 

but they are both dead now, you know? 

I spent the most valuable resource I have  

erasing uppercase I’s  

and replacing them with their childish kid sister 

maybe that’s what I was doing- 

trying to be a god damn fucking child for a minute 

Maybe back then,

my writing was a car,

Student driver

plastered on its back

screaming silently:

“Here, yes! Please, See me, Here! Yes,  

I’m doing a big, scary thing  and when I mess it up

or miss something obvious,  mercy me.”