“I am a crab. I am thinking crabby thoughts. I am tightening my grip on this rock with my big red pincers.”

“I think where I am not, therefore I am where I do not think. I am not whenever I am the plaything of my thought; I think of what I am where I do not think to think.”

“I am flushed and warm.I think I may be enormous,I am so stupidly happy,My wellingtonsSquelching and squelching through the beautiful red.”

“I have my booksAnd my poetry to protect me;I am shielded in my armor,Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.I touch no one and no one touches me.I am a rock,I am an island.”

“At least I have the flowers of myself,and my thoughts, no godcan take that;I have the fervour of myself for a presenceand my own spirit for light;and my spirit with its lossknows this;though small against the black,small against the formless rocks,hell must break before I am lost;before I am lost,hell must open like a red rosefor the dead to pass.”

“I am not my heart rate. I am not my skills. I am not my sleeping problems. I am not my stress. I am not my fears. I am not how I look like. I am the very essence of me. I am my will. I am my passion. I am my beliefs. I am how much I can give and receive love. I am infinite and possible. I am my soul.”