What would you say to the part of you that hurts the most?
My hands
and My wrists,
scraped from
the concrete,
and burning from
sharp words.
My knees,
Remembering the gravel
scarring them as I knelt.
I knelt for her,
for him
for all of them.
My elbows,
Thinking about the soft
burning textured
jeans.
Staring with empty
purpose. Into the eyes
of my oppressors.
Now, it's my feet,
standing with
clenched hands
muscles tensed,
ready for the next,
war.
wide fern
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 9:21 AM UTC