I say “Which wrist?”
Her hands twitch as she reaches down
Pulls up the sleeve with such strength to reveal
The places she tried to carve herself anew
Like a bowsprit to guide her ship
I say “It’s like Van Gogh
Because Michelangelo didn’t deal
With those hues of red
And I know you feel like a Picasso painting
But you are a never-before-displayed original
Valued priceless because the world knows
You are incomparable”