the next time someone asks me
who are you?
i’m going to tell them
I Am
twenty-two years’
stockpile of seconds
AND THEN SOME!
standing before you
i can picture it now
they’ll take me for mad
or romantic
when i’m neither
but i’m still going to say it
because
I Am
twenty-two, and alive
and i don’t care if you mistake
the sound of snow rolling
down the mountain for danger
or youth