edges that scrape and shape

we are taught
that you can't be sharp. 

i'm a sharp person - 
sharp edges,
sharp heart,
it's the way i beat
and the way i dance.

we are taught to round out
the corners that might catch
a person unawares, like
that one point of the banister
that catches your side every time,
leaves you with the faint outline of pain. 

but that's not what i am - 
i am insomnia evenings
where my feet wear patterns into the floor
and the trees are barren from winter

so get used to early-morning teas
and wood against rough knuckles



echoing in the empty kitchen, 
like we're laughing to ourselves

wouldn't surprise me

and so i curve and carve my skin
into something that fits better, 
stretching to stand 
and unfolding my joints. 

i am sharp and jagged
and i dare you to touch me. 

The End

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