Fake. Lifeless. Plastic.
I once knew a girl – this is true to life –
It was 1st or 2nd grade, I believe.
She had a prosthetic leg. I felt sorry for her,
but then again, she was able
to do almost anything.
She could run, jump,
hang upside down on a bar,
everything except swim.

Prosthetics. Dull. Lifeless, as in paper
which is fake – it just sits there.
The only thing we ever use it for
is to write. We write,
and that’s when it becomes something
and not fake.

Prosthetics. Paints, which are nothing
like the real thing. Like cartoons.
Although some paints look real.
The Mona Lisa. Cortez’s self portrait.
It has extreme depth—it looks like you
could walk right in and touch the person.

Prosthetics. Dreams are fake.
What you choose to do with them
to make them a reality
is up to you.

Prosthetics. My life of video games.
It’s my fake world where anything is possible.
I can jump off buildings and not get hurt.
The life of video games is the best place
I’ve ever been.
To die
and get reborn.