I have arms made of china that break whenever you let go
I am an alignment of stars that you seem to disregard for the moon
I hold ownership of waterfalls for eyes
I have a body made of one-hundred sheets of college ruled notebook paper that kids like me used to make scrapbooks out of
I am a collection of bruises holding up photos of a Father's fist,
My hands were only made to hold those who feel empty when not holding a glass of wine