cut her open and you’d find
a graveyard of memories in her mind.
she’s a living tomb; she’s a
mausoleum of unspoken hellos
and goodbyes said too soon.

there is poison in her veins;
wings on her back that act more like chains.
she wasn’t born with them; she’s learned
how to cope, how to hide, how to use
these gifts that were meant to condemn.