i woke up like this:

with dark, tired eyes

still heavy like the night sky refusing

to budge against the rising sun.

 

i woke up like this:

already exhausted

with the thought of another day’s work.

 

i woke up like this:

hungry and upset,

and i really didn’t want to open my eyes,

i honestly need five more minutes, please.

 

i woke up like this:

a hot mess.

 

more mess than hot.

 

and i woke up like the big bang, the birth of the universe,

a moment of quiet interrupted by an explosion of energy,

and i don’t know where it came from,

but where once there was nothing,

i am now here,

defiant against the emptiness,

erupting into existence.

 

yes, i’m a mess.

i’m a mess of negative space

shimmering with stardust and ancient lights.

i’m a mess of paint splatters

that would make pollock jealous.

i’m an architect’s worst nightmare,

my structure struggling to stand straight

and yet people all across the globe come to see me,

to place their hands on me

and show their support.

 

because flaw implies i was

expected to be one thing,

and somewhere along the lines

there was a tragic mistake,

but i am not finished yet.

i’m as flawed as a canvas

outlined with forms that exist

only in the artist’s mind,

and even picasso used shapes

not meant for the human body.

so when you see me, disproportionate

and scarred and with colors that

fade and burn like the sky against a falling sun,

know that you will never have seen me before

and i will be extraordinary,

 

because i look at my arms,

my right as clean as the day i was born,

my left riddled with tally marks

counting the days i looked at the work in progress

and missed what the finished product could be,

counting the days when i really, really

didn’t want to be here,

 

and despite all of that,

i am still here, every day

adding on to the art i am,

refusing to be buried underneath the night sky.

 

i rise

and i wake up like this:

a work in progress,

flawless.