She uses her body like art,

Making colours dance,

Creating texture with her lips

Paintbrushes made of finger tips

The details are tragic

She draws love songs and horror stories on layers of legs

Each story board,

A new character, a different shade

Those primary tones crawl out of secondary thoughts

She puts emotions onto blank spaces

Finding areas of her back she cannot reach

Tapping magic to it from her wrist

Areas of greys are covered,


She stares at her complete

Mirror to image,

She’s a piece of work

Angling herself at positions unaware

She captures them languages she’s spoken onto her body

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