some are above others
It's as simple as that.
some have tongues that spill with words and rest in the roof of our mouths
some have bones as brittle as a bird, as the sun in winter and as the snow in spring
We are graphite sketches, my dear, unfinished and flawed
with sharp edges and paper hands
for we are broken and scarred, dusty red fingers and knees
and some are puzzles, unfinished as the graphite sketches
stitching themselves together
strings of words
just words, and words, and words
