beginnings aren’t questioned as much as an ending
each cut, bruise and graze i was lended from the universe were mine
my analytical eye saw each one form and heal
but the process isn’t recognised until the day you wake up and that injury is gone
i want to wake up
i used to swim in the waters inside of me
and if at any point i felt like i was drowning
my head was a lifeguard
my heart was a mother
but now i drink the ocean which leaves me with a feeling of thrist stronger than dehydration
i’m becoming sahara and the grains of sand are too weak to build pyramids
i slip through the cracks in dry land
i miss when my head used to be a hand
even if it was a tornado
am i strong? am i able?
when i entered a room i never looked for a label but now all i see is 100% cotton