wip
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.