I am a note in a barely flat
down from birth,
breathing loud and crying
quiet. Carried in circles,
the music of my silent 
self undressed, ashamed,
and just a little too
human to go back where
I came from. I
am an unmother with open
arms.  Define me, if
you dare but know I
carry your tears in my
pocket and they’ll 
return when your eyes
glass over. I
am a learner who
shares to love the thoughts
I feeling buy and make
for dinners, some 
healthier than others. 
I am no chef. I
just try to eat the
real stuff.