in this human form
I wear my mortal skin
like a well loved quilt
and sometimes
it drags me down
woven through and through
with every place I've ever been
it warms me but
offers little protection
from anything that could pierce
this fragile exterior
soon I will fold it up
and put it on a shelf
where it will collect dust
and wrinkled creases
as it crumbles with age
and eventually expires
the thing I'll clutch to,
is who I really want to be,
my stories, songs, hopes
and dreams
as delicate as a morning mist,
as strong as driving rain
never to be extinguished
by the righteous glory of
giving way.
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