By: Sasha Baldwin

right now, I am a rough draft.
I am left here to be
looked back on and revised

hard as I may try,
I'm not the girl poets speak of.
not made up of the ocean tides, no,
my rib cage does not speak to my lungs
and my heart is not a crystal drum;
it will always be a weapon
more than anything

I am an incomplete masterpiece,
full of crossed out words and changes.
no one ever calls a draft beautiful.
why can't I be the final piece?