my own creation

here is a frame of me washed in dirt brown
lacking hands to cherish you,
beyond your gaze or that of any other entity
I’ve created, trapped by fanciful bars,
a well-dressed exoskeleton flaking without sun
to shadow the details.
no more comfort from real-life hues:
ruby-throated hummingbirds,
orange and black patchwork calicos,
the periwinkle hound at my heel.
only pasted-in memories
flat on a sketch of imagined purpose
cropped from time wasted over
crafting the cages.