start with a boy—
no, a girl—
any person will do, really,
and shape them into what you want to be.
or what you wish you were
or what you are
or what you don’t wanna be,
and give them grey hair.
make them thirty-five with a mid-life crisis,
or make them sixteen with a bad attitude
on the brink of teenage rebellion.
or maybe they’ll lead a rebellion,
wielding a sword.
their personality will be just like their home life,
quaint and neat or completely shitty.
their dad? a drunk, or a workaholic
their mom? not in the picture, or maybe a housewife.
maybe they can be just like you, your own personal clone.
give them eyes that sparkle in the moonlight
and make them as blue as the sea,
their emotions will follow the tides,
thrashing against jagged rocks and calming down on the shore.
give them freckles,
ones that’ll spread all over their skin, ones that their spouse will call beautiful.
make them shy
make them bold
make them cry
make them bleed.
and most importantly,
give them scars,
ones that tell a story.
maybe of the time they fell off their bike when they were eight
or maybe of the time when they laid on the bathroom floor,
the world gloomy,
their arms drenched in red—
like yours were,
wishing you were that one
perfect
character.