There are some who object
to using I,
to a confessional,
as if the power of all things
comes from some place else.
Why are they so modest?
Why do they regret their faces?
Have they committed crimes?
Never learned to sign their names?
Or perhaps someone said,
I do not love you.
You are unworthy,
I want nothing of you,
including your stories.
And to them I say,
come to me and I will love you.
I will trade words,
and if you are sweet,
kisses and hugs,
or sweet wine.
But let no one tell you,
you can’t use an I in a poem,
or a song,
or put your face in a picture.
There are fewer of us than we imagine.
People are rare.
Friends still fewer.
Lovers, all alone share our beds,
our hearts,
so say I,
come back to your center.
Tell me as much as you can
about yourself.
The world wants you,
and I want you.
So begin with,
I am here,
in this life,
and it sparkles in the deepest part of me,
and I greet you with open arms!