everything that makes me round

i can not be easily organized into hashtags or labels on cardboard boxes

i am am not the square, straight and even, check the boxes that apply

i am curves, goosebumps, stubbed toes, parabolas like roller coasters of emotion

stacks of books, thick socks, chapped lips, dogged eared magazine articles and bookmarked websites

i am built on the skins that i shed, reinvented myself on the stars of tomorrows and yesterdays

sliding into clean sheets, bouncing up at alarms, hot water runs down me in spirals

memories tied to songs, bones mended from brokenness, hips where my sister sits as i

wrap one arm around her, wrap two arms around myself, in self-love not self containment

because i 

                cannot

                           be 

                               contained

i am the fireworks i used to fear i am sunshine and oxygen converted

to carbon dioxide pumping blood, a million cells, fears and tickled taste buds, perked ears, messy hair 

save your boxes i will not fit.