Can bruises bloom?
Or stretch marks wind around your hips like rivers do around hills?
Might freckles name you a descendant of the Sun?
Can pimples form pink berries that decorate your face as they would a Christmas wreath?
Cuts can become signs of heroism, battle scars that make you proud?
May rashes become a natural blush, saving you twelve dollars at CVS?
And do the dimples of your thighs equate the dimples of your cheeks?
If you let them, and if we let them.
My nose is just one giant bleeding spot. Red is flowing from the two nostril holes, showering my bruised knees with a velvet spray. They say that when a nosebleed comes your way, coating the inside and the outside of its chosen victim red, you must tilt your poor crimson head forward to let the blood escape with disturbance, and so I do. I lean and lean and lean till my chin is touching my knee and the blood can only fall two feet before creating an ocean on the ground. I make no sound, just lean till I am afraid I will fall into the ruby red pool and graze the small heads on the tiny ants laying dead at the bottom: cause of death drowning.
- Oyinda Y.O.