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.