the story of me

I will tell the story of me tonight,

due to the dust on the fan-

the strength of me gives me fright-

I never know how long I can

keep the poker face,

the smooth skin thighs,

the sacred place

inside my eyes-

and all my friends, a warm, foreign land-

despite the love, my mouth tastes sand,

despite the laughs, my throat’s a furnace,

despite my wholesomeness- I’m a fire, burning-

slow. my bones are cannibals, innards turning,

there’s a fierce despair I soothe with tea-

I hold a candle, to Past’s shadow,

and negotiate Its leaving me be.


I hope one day to put on paper,

the battles bloodying up my bed,

I wish I found within my stupor,

a hefty drill to spill my head-

I assure the walls- I will not surrender-

tomorrow, with the sun, I’ll rise-

and over lunch, only I’ll remember-

the wretched strength behind my eyes.


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