Underneath my skin is a labyrinth of earthquakes,
And underneath my nails is clawed through dirt.
There are roots intertwined in the knots of my shoulders,
And the veins of leaves on the back of my hand
Are what I use to find my way back home like foot paths.
I have raging rivers for my bloodstream,
And a constant breeze for what keeps me up at night.
I lack white clouds as the backdrop to my pupils,
Brown like the tree I keep carving names into,
And I am constantly going back and forth like frothy waves
That kiss every grain of sand.
I rupture like a fallen peach,
And hit hard like a tree branch against a bedroom window.
I am soft and gentle as the grass underfoot,
And wildly unstable as the crack in my trunk.
I am full of everything that lives as I do,
The beautiful and unfortunate,
And I will never stop moving.