It’d Be Me.

By Dani Rose

If God made mistakes,

It’d be me.

A one-night stand rush,

hastily pasted 

with parts of this—no, that:

a too-big nose

bent just a little — good enough,

Grandfather’s Great Depression eyes,

brows thick, expressive,

making secrets impossible to hide

—lips a little too loose, 

but too tight to smile,

a smile flecked with as much imperfection

as beauty can hold.

Pour some spirit in…

truth, wisdom, and intellect…

Ope, a little full there, 

brains spilling 9mm too far for comfort, but 

there’s no time to even out the sharp parts —

time to go! They started early.

Wrapped up and sent —

to the wrong address, perhaps

Mom wants a refund

of her late teen years.

Father’s on tour – behind a gun,

forgetting me, and a son, apparently.

Maybe God forgot 

to give me a category,

he seemed to be rushed:

intellectually - fluid, 

emotionally - fluid, 

gender - fluid, 

sexually - fluid,

astrologically - fluid.

I guess, you could say,

I go with the flow.

If anyone could flow,

It’d be me.

Flowing like sea.

Well, less like waves’ 

steady wax/wane

more like a river

conquering currents of shame, 

finding a way,

through any terrain, unstoppable—

a force dammed to be contained, 

but breaks through instead

flowing in and around

flooding through streets

of nearby towns.

Perhaps categories 

can’t contain me—damn.

Life would be easier if they could.

I’ve tried to fit in, 

but nothing appears as it should

Because if God made mistakes,

then they aren’t God, are they?

If the gods decided to break the mold,

it’d be me.