i am tired of every one telling me
i am tiny.
my waist may spill secrets
that my ribs have to tell,
my hip bones begging
to be kissed.
my wrists easily fatigued
by the words i have to write,
and there are times when i am swallowed whole by another’s arms while my heart plays hide
and seek under the covers,
but i am big.
my voice is the wind and my words are the flowers reaching for
the sun.
my eyes go deeper than the mountains and challenge the stars;
they are eager to devour the sea.
my lungs can hold back hurricanes and my mind is a firecracker,
so beautiful, sublime
in it’s own destruction.
my footsteps cover continents,
and the only place big enough to hold me safely,
to call my home
is the endless galaxy that surely some day
will decay,
fall, burn down
and leave only the ashes
for you to try
to keep in a box,
try to bury
in the emptiness,
in the cavity
of your heaving chest.
– i am not tiny. i am
exploding and
you will never be able
to contain me.
