I am a garden.

I am overgrown and unkempt.

Where I begin and end is unclear.

Vines trail my body, wrapping up and around my legs.

Leaves sprout from my pores.

Petals bloom from my fingertips.

Where my joints join together, thorns protrude. 

My hair is green, tangled, and twisted.

Weeds clog where your eyes 

expect a break in the greenery. 

My veins hold aloe to remedy.

The trees sing and whisper my name.

I am a garden.

I am beautiful and I grow where I please.

I am alive.

Flowers emerge from the ground that I walk. 

My roots grow deep, 

they are overwatered and gasping for air.

My lips part, and water spills out of my mouth.