Writer’s Anatomy

I am a
Writer
My limbs are crafted of
The pale wood of a
Delicate
Dancing
Pencil
My blood is composed of
Silky black ink
Smooth and screaming
Potential
My pulse frantically drums out
Hidden and meaningful
Stories
I breathe in contemplation
I breathe out words
Packaged glories
My brain is a maze of
Imagination
Several different worlds
My skin is formed of fine
Paper
As light as feathers
Themselves
My nails are sharpened lead
Ready to furiously scrawl what
The beauty around me
Sings
My wings are made up of
An otherworldly
Combination of
All these different things
They flutter softly
Murmuring like
Tiny
Tinkling
Fairies
Giving flight to these words I
Constantly
Carry
Like immortal bells which never
Cease to
Ring
My heart is a writhing mass
Beating and beating and
Pounding relentlessly
Against my pale and
Fragile ribs
A constant reminder
To be careful with whom
I share my
Precious wings
For though my heart is strong
Laced with a
Kaleidoscope of
Powerful emotions
Pouring life into my
Leather bound journal
Veins
My soul is
Made of delicate
Glass
A very
Fragile but
Beautiful thing
I am a writer
Everyday I wake
Every cell commands my body
To take and take and take
And then finally
When my work is done
I must wholeheartedly
Make
Something
From this world
I am
Not
Of

-Megan M. Phillips

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