I am-bic pentameter

 I am the girl with braids the boys would pull. Perhaps they loved the power, my heart, my brain. The way I could outrun them after school. Skinned knees bled while my hair glowed in the sun.

I am the girl who lied that I had horses. I tripped a boy in a second grade trust exercise. Stood up for fat girl the class would often torture. Both my parents got sick and almost died.

I am the girl who never finished high school. I dreamt of wearing tails at Carnegie Hall. I got drunk in Spanish class held on Bascom Hill. My professor brought sangria for us all.

I am the girl who has a child in prison. The methamphetamine, like Stephen King. I thought fierce love would be enough to save them. The monster in the book will always win.

I am the girl who sees my letters in colors. A synesthete, afraid of missing gems. The bird, the fugue, the book, the unopened door. The Boston marathon. Achieving zen.

I am the girl I am the girl, my father quipped on my forehead curl, I no longer am sure I know what matters. I am not even sure about iambic pentameter.