Thursday, May 12, 2011

Day 663: moving target

promises are made to be forgotten
to be broken
our bond
was perfect penmanship
and personalized stationary
the things that kept us quiet
from questioning these bodies
wondering which parts were broken
when we learned to hollow ourselves out
like a drum
something to be filled
we forgot to leave room
for the ocean
the tide
the mountains
the sparkle in the sunlight
we set ourselves ablaze instead
cast aside everything our mothers and fathers promised us
and cried when we didn’t know what to call our skin
our sex
our hearts
looked nothing like the fist they were born to be
we would search inside of ourselves for answers if only
we had remembered how
if only

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