I was in a museum
Picture framed
Hunger and healing
Into the morning
Into the lives of the living
They were felt pain

In a language not of our making
Strange and incomprehensible
I thought I wanted you to kiss me
Amidst these days with flesh
Bones encompassed by your hurt
Words are not meant to harm
In steamed air
But they made the attempt

Your puppet tongues
Sampled the sounds of rainforests
To swiftly curl into view
Unseen
Anemic
Crystal objects

Feeling Unbreakable

I learned to savour the days like the nectar of a hummingbird
Patient as an unborn child
Eyes staring down
It is finally possible to breathe
All the matter in my lungs
Lifted by the weight of
A new chapter’s
beginning

The words
Vested through falsities
Labeled in cryptic currencies
Smoking and burning the wire

Every year he’d try the same manipulations
Like a deceit that
Used to come back in the form of a cancer
Kept in remission and finally erased


Transferred acts drenched in defeat
Rejection over again
                  
Cannot harm me

I pinned my feelings down and captured them like an insect making its escape
Anywhere but here I said.

I can start again because I came to terms with my freedom. And it feels so good.

The human cost of personal suppression overcomes any fear of not creating your best life, that even the martyred butterfly will reappear to live again and again in the space of love and courage