littlestorms

I am a thing, human – strange,

My body is a thousand waving motions.

A million different particles that shift and work and move.

I undulate – I feel.

I weep, I breathe.

I’m constantly at work, all the tiny pieces of me.

I remember: a computer.

I smell, I dream.

I grow hair without asking to, and make up my own coloring.

I’ve been a tool of breathlessness, I’ve lived in others’ dreams;

But I’m a human, gross, alone –

moving through it all.

Tattooed by life and unexpectant,

amazing and alone, it seems.