Who am I?
Am I all my mashed up mishaps,

Looping, creping, paper chaining through?

Am I clogs of wall paint stains in

bedded lanes of divine daisy dew?

Am I rivets, ratchets, harsh lines,

chiselled by stilettoed hue?

All these thoughts, feelings and instincts;

which are true?

I sup the type of other mother tongues,

and still ask you....

who am I?