I don’t want to stick out like a weed in a field of wildflowers.

I come from a long line of big mouths.

Like my mother before me.

They say Mesopotamia was quiet until we barreled from the heavens,

Vaporizing the dinosaurs into fertilizer.

My hard-headed ways cracked the sky like a large egg,

So came the Great Flood.

Among the beasts and men,

It is only the beasts who are honest about their hunger.

Men kill for the thrill—

Gaining a sick pleasure from watching our spirits die,

Severed tendons with fatherly fellowship.

I was not washed in the blood of the lamb as it was prophesied.

Sacrificed to heathen gods.

I am _the_ Trojan horse—

Possessed by a vulgar tongue,

Obscenities sneaking past my lips as if each were an angry, slippery eel,

Impulse control power surging me into a blackout,

Fried the electrical panel of my personality.

I’ve made myself a mosaic of different characters,

But the gaps are harder to fill when I don’t know what’s missing—

The wind carried me for hours

And I still ended up taking anchor in the cracks of sidewalks.

Like any weed,

I grow where I do not belong.