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I wore the sky across my skin,

stitched stars into my hair,

but still, your eyes — cold windows —

—

I built my laughter out of light,

my silence out of prayer,

but your heart was wired tighter

than anything I’d dare.

No shade I wore, no song I hummed,

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no gentle, breaking sigh

could twist the mirrors in your mind

to let me qualify.

Was it beauty that I lacked,

or something deeper still —

a shape too strange to fit your dreams,

a voice you could not will?

So I gather all my softer parts,

the ones you couldn’t see,

and plant them in a richer ground

where I can grow for me.