I Am Made of Everything

Self-portrait of Ginny.

I am made of fragments

of versions I could have been,

my dreams are lost memories

and things I would’ve seen.

My limbs are made of cotton

with glass bones cracking within,

and there is no telling

to where my seams end and begin.

My heart is padded

with layers of leather and iron,

metallic thorns pricking out

from the caged barbed wire.

For I am the culmination

of the books I’ve held and read,

the people that I’ve known,

and the stories that I’ve said. 

The tips of my fingers are black

with soot from fires that I’d started,

rich colors reflecting through my eyes

that see the world distorted.

My breath is caught

in the rose bushes of my throat,

blood-stained petals bloom

with each tear-written word I wrote.

My stomach is slowly churning

butterflies into ashes,

memories, like lightning,

return to me in flashes.

My mind is constructed

of diamonds and pearls,

making up a colorful mess

of this wild-hearted girl.

I am made of things

as fragile as a petal,

whose fall impacts the Earth

with a tremble uneasily settled.

The quaking ripples for miles

taking countless winters and springs;

and quakes don't bow to isles,

for I am made of everything. ◆

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