rewrite

again. I rewrite the context of the script.
again. I fall. deploring the obvious mistakes that continually impede my growth.
I have become a beautiful analogy to the things I never thought I would be.
I am an unspoken whisper of pretension.
I am a softspoken word of imperfection.
I am an outspoken directive of labored faith.
I take my place in the world as I see myself fit.
I wear my colors on the outsides of my hands.
My feet are boiled with lessons,
glued in place to a world that I make up.
I dream. daily. with expectations that seem far too realistic to be real.
I count moments in memories.
I save kisses in my fingers,
and I plant hope into the pores of my face.

photo by: Luis Camnitzer