My past is like a garden inside of me, blooming & growing & giving birth to beautiful things. My thoughts are constellations, whirling around inside the depths of my mind. These bones make up the fortress that holds the very thing that I am & my skin, etched deep with scars, is pulled tightly over it. My organs beat & hum inside me, full of life & sometimes even purpose.
I am the same thing that we all are. I am human. I am flawed & full of painful memories. I am imperfect & yet beautiful.
I am a walking storybook,
& I keep on turning the pages.