Science Of Myself (or) Things I know About Myself
Sara Cohen
I wonder if I could count all the grains of sand on the beach
I picture how the miniscule rocks would slip easily through the gaping holes between my tiny fingers and I remember that I cannot understand everything I touch.
The ocean is miles deep and the sky is miles high
and I find myself worrying about inches around my waist.
A planet is a million times bigger than anything I will ever be and I feel a million times smaller than anything you will ever be.
The universe is endless
I am not.
I am built from stars
my flaws transform my DNA into a mediocre equation to create a mess of anatomy.
I am a black hole.
I defy basic laws of our universe that humans have created to avoid putting faith in a god we long to trust.
I wonder if my fears say more about myself than my accomplishments.
There are creatures that no one will ever see and I am here lying in my bed thinking i am worth something
I am worthless and full of life and sometimes I feel the need to apologize.
My DNA is a an unachieveable recipe for a dish i can’t imagine anyone wanting to eat
My skin is saturated with stars and dirt and unfulfilled promises.
I think before I speak
and after I speak
and when I’m awake at 3am.
An electron is a piece of energy and light.
Math is relative.
I am using my energy thinking about science tests and english essays and how much space I occupy.
I remind myself that personality cannot be quantified by numbers and my weight depends on gravity.
It’s my fault that I want to cry.
Faults carress my body causing earthquakes as the tectonic plates of my flesh collide with my constant stream of apologies.
I am a juicy paradox full of contradiction and contemplation.
Dont try to fix me.
A mosaic is a mix of broken pieces but doesn’t need to be fixed.
Align me so I complete a picture.
Don’t glue me together.
Don’t patch my skin so you can run you hand over smooth flesh.
I know i believe in science
and science does not believe in me.
