Poetry taught me to see.

open your eyes

it teases me

 

taught me to see that my eyes aren’t brown

they’re warm coffee on a rainy day

and constellations of milk and sugar bloom

in the dark quiet midnight

beneath my lids

 

taught me that my lips aren’t pink

they’re budding azaleas in the summer

and carved from michaelangelo’s ancient marble

i split his lips against their softness

 

taught me that my body isn’t feminine

it’s sinew and muscle and sharp teeth

my weapon of choice

wrapped in the softest skin

but careful when you touch

these nails aren’t just for show

and i run with artemis’s wolves

at night

 

i open my eyes

Poetry taught me to see myself.