portrait of the artist, as a young girl

you are young and drunk on color,
smashing the empty bottles of your dreams
against reality's concrete canvas:

sculpt your world with shards of glass
so every raw silhouette will dazzle us,
like flashes of electric pain,

and weld yourself a metal heart,
gleaming with the veins of crooked rivets
to remember the surface of your own

after you have carved it from your chest.


a/n: your self-portraits are where we turn to find ourselves. june 22, 2010.