It doesn't matter

it really doesn't matter;

we could have been made

of mud or ice,

bones of steel

or leaves

of pine;

I have got

no spine.

My tongue

is a useless

flap of muscle

that hangs in the air

when it needs

to do the talking,

my heart does,

and my brain

hopes.

Can I be a dream?

A dream

I dream

every night

when my eyelids

go to sleep,

when my mind

wanders

and I would have a

spine,

a moving tongue,

a palm,

that can hand a stinging

whiplash

to a cheek.

Can I be a dream?

I could be that dream

but I am never going to be

Just because I am a cliché of a drama waiting for a storm

that could turn me inside out

or

upside down.

_______________

©VioletEden