I am from wisps of incense, trailing from dusty tea cups, always giving me my name.
I am from her wayward tears, waiting for my bones to worship her in the ground.
I am from a room filled with dusty books, distilled silence, dangling toes from peach tree branches, and boy, I never want to forget that ringing laughter.
I am from nights of clenching, ridding the breath to forget the body - I don't want to feel the next blow.
I am from a child's dream and a young woman's hope - their voices flow in my veins.
Oftentimes, I believe that I am from and purely made up of an organ that pumps my love outwardly into the cosmos, to which I scream out, "can you please feel me as I feel?"
And oftentimes, the cosmos would reply, "yes."
I am from pores that cannot help but be a yes to the glorious ness of this world.
I am from this beauty and devastation of a planet, and I've heard her call, and because everything I do will span all the lifespans of all the lifetimes of all beings on this earth, my body responds.
I am from several lifetimes and a couple moderations of ego and an altered state of complexion twice removed from being you.
