poetry allows me to purge and process. its how I breathe.
I am going to disarm myself,My fingers, kidneys, Womb, my memories,Disarm my skin, and my back,hollow eyes,Leave everything at the alter, for the higher power to see,Offer myself up to
rub the hurt out of my skin,wash the oil out of my hair,scrub the nerves into a calm state,heaving while screeching every morning,knee’s bent, seething,an illness that is just not
my modesty, my gratitude,built in your name,your image,you, who created a dream for me,who joined two lives together for me,you with your voice, across the phone in several tongues,bringing countries