Under Construction
I treated my body like a project
Like I was paper that has been scribbled all over
Like every haircut was a draft
Like every mistake was a typo
Like every line I leave in must be worth the read
I hunched over the mythical instruction manual of broken letters
I carved at my silhouette
I didn’t notice we are not made out of the same material
I made splinters
Chipping with screwdrivers
I paint over them with a thick cold brush
They cut my fingers every time I work
I just wanted to finish
To be blessed by grades, rankings, the numbers
I hunched over the mythical god of a bathroom scale
I made diagrams without geometry
I made phenomenons of the glances I caught of tops and corners between their elbows
I made towers with floating middles
But after those towers fell I learned of cement
I learned of the glue of outstretched hands
Not reaching in condolences
But blooming in the direction of my own sunshine
I am learning not to shove my body through a mold
But embrace it as it grows
With my mind as a sun, not a factory
I am learning to make amends with numbers
I am learning to make amends with myself