Here I am
made of lumber
splinters are my skin
burns and cuts of summer days
paint peeling in the grass
wasps bites and termites
as I wither, swell and ache
bones that burst
when lightning strikes
my eyes are bluer still
I pierce the flood
of phoenix tears
as green turns grey
not fit for lungs
or meant to breathe
when holding comes easy
and heartbeats tatter at an acres pace
one after the other after the other
until my home is not my own
the streets no longer paved with pain
the torture leather, silver spared
on a platter, love prepared
a forest for a mother
a sun for a father
and a son to love me like none other