I killed the glass and the girl gilded in gold.

I watched as the pieces rained in the cold.

 

Snow coats her lashes, blood on her lips,

sifting to ashes, around me to drift.

 

A charcoal cocoon, blood on my hands,

a weightless feeling as slowly I stand.

 

From death pours rebirth, I killed the girl in the mirror,

and with her perfection that I held so dear.

 

Look at my hands; I know, they’re covered in red,

but blue rivers run through them as well as my head.

 

Look at my skin, dry and cracked from the breeze,

but it has lightning bolt patterns and parts of the sea

 

and mountains and valleys and stretches of plain

and waterfalls and rapids and deserts and rain.

 

My hair flutters out, becomes one with the breeze.

My toes planted firmly, rooted like trees.

 

Now look at my eyes, they’re filled with the sky.

Clouds, stars, and moons chase themselves as they fly.

 

I have mountains within me, and rivers and flowers.

I am one with the earth; I am beauty and power.

 

I am a thousand suns brighter than the girl in the gold,

I am radiant life that melts away cold.

 

How can I be flawed if the same hands that made me

also made autumn, the wind, and the leaves?

 

I am flawless, you see, eyes, skin, and hands,

for I belong to myself, the sea, the sky, and the land.