(If you ever ponder about me)

I am:
Little things left and forgotten.
A collection of novels read and poems written.
Short hair, long hair; all the time: messy hair.
Pencils, acrylics and gel ink pens.
Doodles hidden away in notebooks, words published on blogs.
The dancing that nobody ever saw, pictures of tiny objects, big brown eyes.

I am:
The view from a number of windows, the soft cold air of some mornings.
A long catalog of men that I wish others would forget;
A small list of men that hold the world together.
Paper-mâché, ceramic and plastic.
Tangible skin; a kiss, a bite, a hand sliding down (a dark whisper that turns you on).
Tears of frustration, quiet afternoons, uncontrollable laughter.

I am:
A secret rendezvous and a not so secret affaire.
Cotton, silk and perspiration.
Red bull with vodka, coffee. An Ale and a Stout.
The desire to be like her (and the reality that I am not).
Edited memoires of friends.
A body without tattoos, a collection of scars.

I am:
The humming of a song, clumsy hands, playful feet.
More feelings that I can handle; an honest smile.
All the things that I told you and a few that I skipped.
Little things left and forgotten;
Things that I can’t get back, things that I don’t want back.
 A chaotic to-do list.

This is all I am:
(If you ever ponder about me)