Written With a Mouth

I, too, resemble a worm in my words:
Segmenting my meaning into the green,
Digesting the page as I write my bites.

I am a larva with dreams of wings:
A thirst for nectar,
A hunger for a host of fresh pages.

I am a poet, here on these leaves:
I dare to publish my existence -
I am not the only articulate caterpillar.

I eat, consequently, I write.
From the edges hear my crunching roars:
I am mighty! I stand true! I believe!

I sculpted my holey poetry from behind:
You will find me gone, but not quietly.