I am from, third cycle
by Natalie E. Illum.

I am from the ocean,
sea salt tangled in my hair.

I am from an ancient lineage
of seers, shamans, and crazy women
believing in scattered prophesies.

I am from the cast out and the called in.

I am from a broken womb, a dead landscape
of swollen tissue, spastic limbs, a falling down
I cannot control. I am from the lexicon of cripple.

I am from a dirty secret
of my grandmother's mother's mother,
a mixed dialect, a faulty bloodline. A girl
no one would claim.

I am from the wanderlust
of rock stars, from those fantasies spun
out of guitars. I am from the chords
of Joni, tethered to my bones.
I speak in requiems.

I am from a lover I couldn't hold
on to. A woman I can't forget, a man
who traces my body, whose fingerprints
form my smile.

I am from the fragmented Zodiac,
the manipulative sisters. I am from
tattooed skin over scar tissue
and the sound of glass breaking.

I am from a story I wrote once,
A pen I won't put down. I am from
the exhausted scribes of teenaged angst
and track lines. I am from survival songs.

I am from the way you see me
in afternoon light, in shades of darkness.
I am from the ocean; salt and bone
entangled. The pulling tides and I
are whispering.