Would

From head to toe

personified words,

stories shown in still pictures.

Highlighted reels 

of over-played moments

I treasure most.

Black and white

trying

not 

to fade.

Behind my ear a flower would grow.

My neck and chest untouched,

my heart plays rhythmic melodies.

Being alive is art on its own.

My back would extend wings,

curving around my ribs.

My breaths would carry me

higher than the wind.

My hips would crescendo waves.

My legs would be aged trees.

One full of leaves, 

the other bare carrying only branches.

My ankles

would weave meticulous roots

intended for the trees.

I would stand for something,

without wavering.

Grounded, 

existing, singing,

flying, floating,

becoming a piece of art.

I bare no tattoos.

I can’t.

So, I write.

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