Wear It Well

I wear my body like a rust freckled mailbox that has held other people’s secrets like a full journal, a finished book, but still an untold story.
I wear my ego like fake brass knuckles that will never be used,
Like shoes I believed would look good three years ago but they still sit in their original box.
I wear my stubbornness like a bullet proof vest woven from fear.
I wear my solitude like a tree that stands alone in the middle of a cornfield.
My bones are maple.
My imagination is a Red Wood.
I dance like wind-found branches.
I wear my steps like a drum.
I hold cymbals in my palms and they crash like my laugh holds the Grand Canyon in my lungs.

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