Braille

the body is a poem 

to be unpicked 

           unlocked 

          devoured 

yet – most of all –

to be 

(mis)interpreted. 

after all, 

the writing on my skin 

can only be read by the 

trained eye.

my life 

is engraved on the very 

essence of me 

(which i wish i could destroy) 

patterns of scars 

read like braille 

understood by me alone. 

my body is a work 

(in progress) 

a poem. 

not perfect yet, 

it must be hidden away. 

trace me, read my story. 

don’t come too close, 

after all, paper is fragile: 

handle with care.

By AJ Jeffries Shaw