Day 440: our maps look nothing like our skins

im only 20 but my mind is older
my bodys got cracked
broken boulder limbs
these are the kind of scars we share
the ones that work their way from blood to tissue
walking stories
moving contradictions
severed wings
ive been learning to fall property
since birth
from stork to tree limbs
to mothers forgotten promises
to my first girlfriend
last boyfriend
we are the walking corpses
of a generation destine for doom
determined for justice
running at the speed of light
our feet are the only wouls we havent failed yet
our palms
bloody
the creased tell of our days
but lie in the experiences of numbered ages
its been years since anyones slowed down enough to notice
im 20 years old
bold like red bricks crumbling at dawn
i am an new england territory
scoffing at the innocence of my west ties
pacific roots
colonial pursuits textualized
look at all the scars we've left behind
tracing on the spine of our rock mountain maps
while trying to grow beyond our soul
daring to own a landscape
of skin that cannot be conquered
we are the shards of a generation too afraid to slow down
breathe in
enjoy the scenery
and recline