Every line on my palm
is an unanswered prayer.
Where I come from,
scars are the only ways
a brother recognizes another
& fire is the only antidote to fire here;
Fire + fire = Hell, human ( me).
But tonight,
I am at the other side of the lake,
away from the redness of what we call home.
Wanting to reconsider loving again.
I choose
to egg my scars
& God them towards light.
I present to you,
a blooming wound,
another portrait from this broken being.
This body only knows how to
resurrect, survive and keep
l(o)iving till she can’t.
Say this poem
is an anthology of broken things
learning how to shape shift
themselves into warriors.
Say this poem is a
collection of piercing memories
refurbishing themselves into beauty.
Say this poem is the only path to heal.
Forgive me,
for supermaning myself,
again, again and again.
Dearie,
won’t you join me?
