Unfilled

If inches extended maturi I would carve my legs into s lts So I could learn to stand properly And not be lted om below.

If paint pumped years through the vents of my skin I would cover my tear-stained face So they could only peck above the rim And not scratch up aces of pain.

If pounds completed my slackened build I would mold clay against the gaps To ll the esh on these hollow bones With ripe well-roundedness.

Yet here I stand without overlay And they don’t see me their kind While I myself s ll contemplate How much body shapes the mind.