I don’t care who you tell or how they’re spelled, but I’m asking you to define me.
Make me your new dictionary.
Tell my fingers where to roam, create for my heart a new home.
Show my feet how to wander and my body to dance. Open my eyes and give them a chance.
Melt and mold my mind, sift through the memories and toss out those that are better left behind. Teach me new colors, create new shapes, and make room for the make believe.
Point out the things that I was too blind to see. Like the lack of light in the sunset and the spaces between growing trees.
Teach me to feel the wind on my brand new skin and the heat of the sun on the top of my head. Show me that we bleed purple and red.
Fly me to the moon and help me dive into the stars. Hold my head up high because we’ve come so far.
And when you’ve got tired of all of the things I’ve become simply introduce me to the barrel of a gun. Bruise and break my bones and remind me that I am only inside your head, a creation that took no touch but the tip of a pen.
Remind me that I am nothing but words, but that I was the most beautiful story to tell. It was so easy to picture heaven within hell.
And you know stories like that deserve to be heard.
So I’m asking you, no telling you, not to leave out a single word.
Because when you think of me I hope all the words I am will become the definition of your poetry.