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  • Writer's pictureIona Stuart

Tin - Poetry

I am not these judging numbers,

Sewn crudely into place,

Upon the material that lines my waist.

I am not the quick laughter of an evening,

A stolen kiss, a lost embrace.

I am not the answer to the questions of your fate.

I am not this dotted flesh,

Speckled carelessly across my form.

I am not these yellow bones

That shake and shatter in the storm.

I am not this dying voice

That drones and cracks and threats to lull.

I am not this powdered face,

Which hides the horrors of my skull.

I am the knowledge of a thousand mistakes;

The scars, the memories, the bruises and breaks.

I am the strength gathered over the years,

The ability to abolish the deepest of fears.

I am the light in the darkest night,

And the calm before the fight.

For I am more than just this human tin;

I am the soul that lives within.

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