I Am Myself, Very Much.

Star

I feel my cranium drift in a haze.

By reaching for Saturn, I lose my touch.

The white rabbit’s red eyes betrayed his face

And the hatter whispered “You’ve lost your much.”

Have the flowers all fallen, sloppy; dead?

It’s hard to see when my eyes are in bloom.

My glasses, they hide white roses stain’d red,

And paint me violet beneath Neptune.

Shooting star tears mark silver on my cheeks,

“You weep.” The Cheshire grins “Lost, my dear?

Do you wallow in Wonderland for weeks?

Do not fret, Child, for we are all mad here.

You weep?” He asks, “because you’ve lost touch?”

“No,” said I, “Hatter claims I’ve lost my much.

Which is very untrue, it is not such!

I am myself still; indeed, very much.

I still sing about whatever I do,

And dance around the house whenever I clean.

I still count the clouds in the skies of blue,

And press flowers found in the evergreen.

I still seek the love that’s in everyone,

Even in those who have grown quite unkind,

I believe that the evil which has been done

Can be mended if we look past our minds.”

“Off with her head!” The queen exclaims to you,

But I am not Alice! What don’t they get?

Caterpillars sing, “A E I O U”

Uniquely myself, “my name is Scarlett.”

SW