I often say that my heart smiles, but my heart doesn’t have a toothy grin. I see poems about people’s bones and how they want to crawl out of their skin, but your bones aren’t going anywhere, they are not walking off without you.
You hear about the storms inside people’s brains, how they rumble, how lightning strikes inside of their body, how there are waves coursing through their veins.
But humans aren't natural disasters nor are we really poetic. There is not poetry written along our skin, there is not ink in our veins. But still, I see glassy blue eyes and think, “hurricane”. I notice brown eyes and I think “this is what coffee would be if it were human.” and yet I’m still taken back by the fact that we are all merely brains inside of a skeleton and yet we still find a way to make everything else come alive.