Mine

THEY say I'm the PILOT of my plane, but I don't know how to fly;

and I've heard I can WRITE my own story, but which one's mine?

every INCH and hair of skin and head

are mine, I know but

if I never REPLY will you feed me LINES in your head?

will you know me at all?

I was BIGGER when I started;

every BRICK I add to the wall makes it smaller, somehow

if the RIVER would just take me away I would thank it,

it and its little pebbled waves and the leaves dropped,

GIVEN by the willows like SILENT tears

my FINE-tipped pen will trace every vein I can see through my skin

until the WHISPER in my head becomes a RHYME I can repeat;

traces of IRON won't make me strong with

such a hard shell around my heart

at the HEIGHT of my SAFETY

take me away from here

because I've had enough of this

and I don't know how to leave

the GRADE of sea to sky

is blurred

and if I drive my plane into the waves

I think I would keep on flying forever

MULTIPLY my aspects and

DIVIDE the walls I've built and

maybe

all the stories can be mine