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.