I don’t mean to be a mess,

You just caught me in an awkward phase-

When leaning-in looks like giving up,

and the curly fingers of chrome

wending slow, crooked paths over my scalp

look like stress.

Maybe some of it is.

Most of it’s just me,

And most days that’s enough.

Some days though

(and I have to laugh because it’s true)

Some days, it isn’t.

Some days the laugh lines just look like old,

And the soft curve of a happy belly

Just looks like fat.

But those are glorious days, too.

The days you learn to

Lean-in, let go, let down your hair,

And watch it grow in awkward angles,

Tangled in the west wind of a messy phase

That never seems to pass.

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Hazel eyes flash green,

fierce, facing a fight.

Bright emerald orbs

floating in whitewashed

seas. The front swells too

close to home, looming.

A stone soldier stands,

lonesome monolith

under a red sky,

a lion’s paw strung

in golden links looped

between sloping breasts,

and shiny green eyes

she plucks from her head,

tucks into her chest

where steady they glow,

two pulsing crystals

in a paper house,

uncontainable.