A Little Insomniac Poetry

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I was born hungry

from my mother’s breast

took, took, took

Nine I looked

into a hell

and shuddering, backed away

Fourteen swaying to the beat

of love, love, love

In love with all

the world

and its people,

and its places,

and creations

Twenty when I felt the earth

open and expanding

Funny how I thought I’d be

the exception to the rule

Twenty-three the

tiny beating mixing with my own

slave, slave, slave

Thirty and I gave

away all those little things

and I imagine

I will die hungry as I am