“this is and
this is and this is
the way it looks
and this is the way it is
and this is the way she looks and
this is the way she is”
-trick o’ death
“what is your thousand year plan?”
– trick o’ life
if it walks like a weapon
and it
talks like a weapon,
it is most likely someone that resembles my little brother
with his hood on
a lot of the time, when I put my skin to paper,
my mind burns, my eyes melt,
my throat cramps, and my back screams.
a dead relative’s voice whispers, “You do not have to do this…”
But I do and
I do and I do
this is the way I look
and this is the way I’m treated
and this is the way pain looks and
this is the way I am
My grandma hums to me about how beautiful
I am in the summertime,
when I wear white
and green and blue and yellow
i will not let paper and pens cause my fingers to bleed.
there is much that rests on my back and on my mind
in my throat and in my eyes
but there are so many flowers in my chest
I walk like a weapon
and I
talk like a weapon,
I resemble my brother when I have my hood on.
I want us to be alive for one thousand years.
I want one thousand me’s to be able to find me
whispering in the maps of their palms.
A thousand me’s with flowers
laughing in the lungs