Abstraction: My Body

My body

isn't a body; it's a jornal

that's never been used,

that's never been flattered 

by the presence of ink

or of any presence.

My body

is a molded sculpture of two--

my mother's contribution to me

was clay & water,

my father's contribution 

was wood & iron nails,

the result was a body 

outside of a body -

a master piece 

that God must take credit for 

even with all my sin.

As imperfections arise

I've learned how to

autocorrect them like grammar,

learned to laugh at them

like an amateur clown,

learned to paint over & amplifi

like a child

with her first makeup palette. 

This body stands outside of itself

like someone locked outside

of their house on a 

Friday morning & the household is asleep.

This body

stands outside of its body,

it is an author

trying to ask its own characters

that it's created for some form

or guidance.

My body

isn't a body; it's a journal that's

only ever been created, hand

stitched & professional book covered,

but still sits on a shelf, collecting dust.