~~~°~~~


I was told at an early age,
that my womb is a woven basket only
used when I find the right man
with seeds that spurn delicious apple trees.

My mother was furiously adamant
urging me to find someone
unlike my father
someone who wouldn't
stain deep purple pink
constellations upon soft flesh
like my mother's,

someone who wouldn't light a fuse
on my mouth and say words so damned
and cruel I couldn't take it back,

someone who cradles my brokenness
and kiss it right to its wounds
and call me home.


I was sixteen when I finally
took off my rose colored glasses.

Seeing the monsters leaping
off my story book novels
and into the open air of my everyday life,
touching edges of my innocence

until you...