dermatology

the tale of the giraffe (rewritten)

there’s an even-toed,

ungulate,

african mammal

in the room

that we don’t address.

and she’s more elegant

than any old elephant,

but i digress.

as her memoir goes,

she held up her nose,

to accentuate her 

elongated neck.

her thunderous thighs

touching with every regal stride,

a butter-skinned beauty,

the pinnacle of respect.

but what no one knew

was that her tongue was blue,

cold and sore from

being suppressed.

finding power in choice,

she set off to find voice,

searching the savannas

for a story.

but with the blare of

a merciless sun,

her skin was scathed,

undone,

and with that went all of her glory.

she found shelter under a baobab,

cursed the power the sun had had.

mourning her unblemished skin,

she cried injustice,

she cried sin.

whipping her neck up toward the sky,

she opened her mouth up

 why?

the sound of her own voice

reminding her of

her choice,

that she had made

her story.