Truth is I would like to escape myself

Truth is I would like to escape myself.

                                     Detach my body from my skin,

peel it layer by layer to uncover

                                     beneath the surface of petals

and thorns piled up year after year,

                                     who I am and who I want to be.

I want to be the flower that grows

                                     in dirt, the feather that flies free between

the cracks of fences. A wise woman

                                     once told me, don’t worry about you,

worry about who you could be.

                                     I want to be the woman who sits

on a desk and writes pieces of oceans,

                                     rivers on a white space in a place

where imagination has no border.