Note: for proper formatting of this shape poem, please see the corresponding PDF.
the story of my body f
a
l
l
s
it fails it flails
into being too literal love hands
me a pompom of intention, tangled time and
attention, the cliffs above this valley of cells are
too tall to crawl to see beyond
belonging’s shadow I curl warm into a ball
skin bathes in a single pool of coloured sun
dropped and forgot cup the soft of wool does
not unspool but holds together gathers
recognise the small surprise the pull
kindness knits concede to the feel
k n o w the meaning of
e
n
o
u
g
h