to become myself
must I give myself away

pour myself into what I do
a poem, a painting, some strange brew

built to hold messages, sparks, or a notion
stamped upon a grain of sand or flooding all the ocean

It is said that in releasing blood of my veins,
and marrow from bones that this will make the losses gains

though making me vulnerable exposed as wet clay
I will to go uncharted — becoming no other way