I wasn't made with
an ambidextrous
spirit. No, nor skilled
in simultaneously
gripping and letting go--
not trained, since
childhood, to do that
which my heart resists.
It's hard to hold on.
And when my chest
rattled like a
diamond snake--
and I was uncertain
of what was at stake.
I learned:
I am the bull's eye.
I am the stop sign.
I am the excuse
for his violence--
I am the story nobody
wants to hear or
change.
I am no longer me
but only that
gun shot
right here
to my middle.
By: Evelyn Augusto. 2017
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
I wasn't made with
an ambidextrous
spirit. No, nor skilled
in simultaneously
gripping and letting go--
not trained, since
childhood, to do that
which my heart resists.
It's hard to hold on.
And when my chest
rattled like a
diamond snake--
and I was uncertain
of what was at stake.
I learned:
I am the bull's eye.
I am the stop sign.
I am the excuse
for his violence--
I am the story nobody
wants to hear or
change.
I am no longer me
but only that
gun shot
right here
to my middle.
By: Evelyn Augusto. 2017
Request permission to use this poem