you told me that being a person is a magical thing,
like waking up in a
lifeless body
and feeling your skin tingle
as joints and stardust merge
to create something beautiful
every morning.

but i looked at you and explained
i'm not really a person,
just a very
and when i open my eyes in the morning
my joints are loosely bound
my skin is tearing at the seams.
i am afraid of getting out of bed
for fear that if i move
i will end up as a heap of
shattered stardust
on the floor