my scars are stars
shining bright with the intention of capturing your attention.

my bruises are just shadows.
dancing about my body
rythmically swaying.
each distorted figure it's own tale to tell.

my sprained ankle
is just an ankle with a temper.
slightly red with anger.
swollen in frustration.

my eyelashes-the clinically insane
they whisper
nonsensical things
to those who will truly listen.

my hair serves as curtains
blocking out the nosy few
who'd like to know my name.

and my heart likes to place dress up
every now and then
a connoisseur of the acting art.
an iron safe slowly rusting.
it's contents swiftly pouring.

it's a good thing
my mind impersonates sponges in it's spare time.