Embody

I feel truth in my bones
at the base
of my being.
It boils in the marrow
and bends in the base pairs
of my DNA.
It dances in the vessels
that carry my heartbeat
along an ancient river
of brilliant blue blood.

But it’s only acknowledged
when it spills red
or black-and-white.

External validation.
Human interpretation.

Truth throbs on the tip of my tongue
every second of the day
but only once in a while
does it escape from my lips
onto the contrived soundwaves
projected through my breath.

I can see it in the patterns
branded on my fingertips,
though sometimes it feels like
I’m smothering those swirls
beneath the pounding of frantic keystrokes
desperate to transmit.

There is truth.
There is mind.
There is body
as conduit.

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