sometimes

there are so many things wrong
like stars in the sky but the opposite

i'm  made of light with tiny black speckles all over

ink keeps splattering from my pen 

i keep shaking it

as I write the story of my life 

shake shake shake

"Is this thing working?" i keep saying

it is
i see

as ink smears beneath my eye

it is
i say
as it smears across my mouth

i smear it
more and more

and more and more...across my light 

i becomes deeper
my darkness defines my light

with big curves and caverns 

ledges and lips

i am the canvas not the book
i am form not words
i am art not story
sometimes

there is so little wrong