what am i made of?

By Susanna Rapaka



i’m not made of flesh and bones
i’m not made of blood
i’m made of my father’s rage
i’m made of my mother’s dread

i’m made of my unborn brother’s love
of the pet i’ve never owned
of the places i’ve never seen
and of all the pages in my diary i’ve tore

i’m made of the dead butterfly i once caught
whose wings still hold the colours
i’m made of the fallen flowers
pink to yellow to brown and dirt

i’m made of my girlfriends
i’m made of my comfort food
i’m made of my grandmother’s soft hands
and my grandfather’s books

i’m made of the boy i was in love with
and the man who never loved me back
i’m made of all the sadness in the world
as well as the sunsets and the lakes

i’m made of vulnerability and narcissism
i’m made of self-depreciation and shame
i’m made of my God and my faith
and also of my fears and my strength

i’m made of the man who touched me in the wrong way
i’m made of all the right turns i took to stand where i am
i’m made of every single thing in this universe
and of nothing on a man’s mind

if not of flesh and bones
am i still human and humane?
if not of blood
why do i still let go my tears in the rain?