I stared at my open palm –
purple speckles of a fossil unfrozen by the mere
heat of my touch.
I stared at my hands –
cold and dry come wintertime, layers of
reptilian scales making my little
dinosaur claws rigid, unforgiving.
I imagine myself a warrior woman of sorts – eyes fossilised into icy hardness.
I stared at the sword in my hand and with a great swing,
I slice the stone of youth down the middle, separating
the old from the new, specks exploding:
red, blue, yellow,
thrown across my hair.
Under layers created by millennia of pressure and grime –
the mineral of understanding.
It gleams so that my cheeks flush red with blood from within,
And my neck reaches to the sun,
my eyes widen, beginning to melt and drip.
I close them.
I stared at the insides of my eyes, and
a speckled horizon stared back.


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