Can I be Frank?

Or Mary, or Jane? Or Maryjane?

Anyone but now or here or how.

I don't like sorrow. And it's all I know, and there is no reason really.

Even from the ancient days when I was very young the world made me ache.

Simplicity is my own tragedy. A full moon. A stark bird. A winter sunset. Sorrow in my bones.

Perhaps I am a piece of it and not supposed to be a person at all.

Maybe I'm just missing.

Can I be the leaves and the sun and the moon and the laughing and the squeaking swings?

Can I be many? I don't like one.