My mother named me wrong.
I am electricity constricted beneath too tight of skin.
I am earthquakes, and dry eyes when my mother is crying at the pills in my hand.
God assigned me a name that made no sense.
Heaven who ended up walking on the edge of hell at 4 a.m
Born a mistake, forgive me for the way my hands tremble at the thought of standards, for I'm as fragile as the topic of ******* in a church sermon.
I am a crude misconception of a woman, with the morals of a man.
I am my fathers daughter if I were to be claimed, but I refuse branding, and I am my own darkness.
I am nothing but I am.