were blue eyes
and brain,
and height and heart
and I
was magpie.
Not one for sorrow,
just a borrower of your light
and life.

I had plucked and placed them
on my own face.
I had stood on chairs
and imagined the time
when I would grow up
to meet them with mine.

A wanderer white
with height, and heart
I was made of your majesty.
Stitched by the hand
you used to turn pages
of the tales you told
to help make sense of it all.

Small still,
I was led
and fed
on fascination.
Thread pulled tight on the spine
to straighten mine,
to straighten
and strengthen my mind
you gave me
the best things
to line my nest with.

But, there were lies,
laced in to the new lines
around your blue eyes.

I suppose
to Atlas,
my world must have been a burden,
and you carried me
on your shoulders
at every event where I was too small
to see.
You showed me
and when I finally understood
that you were mere mortal
I met your eyes with mine,
for the first time.

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