re-doing

my

ataxic

body

contours itself into

defiant

elegance, think bursting

flower arrangements,

garnished fully to make bleeding

heart fill a whole.

i repaint myself. images stuck inside

now surface outside, the kind of

intra-personal

juxtaposition between two un-

knowing parts that can carve

lightening strikes into

more than my bright apple core.

people say i’m “brave”. but to me,

it is

no difficult choice.

often, i am underestimated -

people see "lopsided", assume i am

quietly collecting nauseous blue-green-brown tears within a hard

rock coating, like rubble sinking back into Mother’s pit. but i

swallow

the thick froth that shrouds focus, and reinvent mossy mucus as

UV sunlight.

i think those looking from the outside in

see days forever shrouded

by pale, ambiguous overcast. and, admittedly, i have

veered far off the path i’ve

wanted since i first dreamt in pink, and

it’s terrifying. but,

i don’t fear what i don’t know.

i don’t despise what i don’t understand. disdained

xenophobia against what redefines normalcy

yields expansive voids. i protect my brilliance in crowns of

zirconium - veins as string lights transforming deep nights of

indigo

into a warm, welcoming

yellow

glow.