— but I did not dart into the field with a sword in my hand
I stood by the archers, choked poetry out a quill’s hollow chest
my sisters could slay heads in smooth, swift motions
their tiaras glimmered in pools of enemy’s blood,
but I only gagged at the sight of rotting flesh
led no soldiers on my armoured horse,
I sat by the rocks and stared at the ocean from dawn to dusk
picked up the flaccid of my limbs and willed them to endure
one more step, one more step, one more step,
one more—
shook and whimpered under weights of my velvet sheets
I drowned a hundred deaths beneath the layers of silent nights
— could’ve fought dragons, I chose shadows instead
and I did not win wars under the silhouette of my cape
I curled up at the sound of cannon *****,
shrieked louder than the wounded every time
an arrow kissed a heart
and I saved no bruised kingdoms with my flowing blood
sat by the roses and talked to the bees
cried out tears for a carcass of crow,
******* my bones with my feeble flesh
and I begged them to not break apart,
begged through every sigh of the air,
— every burning book,
— every hissing of the rain
every drop tiptoeing out a mouldy tap
I begged them to not break apart
walked though the forest with a lone wolf in my skull,
I sat by a newborn **** singing her back to sleep
and I cried out in pain when a knife ripped open my wrist
did not jump through dubious cliffs and roar with the winds
nor did I fight a hundred knights —
with a broken arm and a tired blade
I winced at the sounds of slashing swords
— shivered at the thought of a dagger’s stab
I dragged an obsolete chest through aisles of dusty, empty shelves
and I whirled around lilies and laughed with the frogs
all while melting away—
I Inhaled, exhaled all night— all day— with these rusted lungs
escaped a thousand chains that snarled in my bed,
I forced dry breads down my narrow throats
and saved a young jasmine from a greedy bird,
fell down thrones and I kissed a hundred grounds
through bleeding lips and muddy gowns,
molded my hesitant voices into tunes of ballads hand-stitched
I brewed tales upon tales for the lonely moon
I willed the vacant of this heart to breathe
every day,
every endless hour,
—every whisper of the despaired firefly
—every flutter of the wind
—every chuckle echoing in the sea
every tick of the yawning moon
and every tock
and don’t you dare—
don’t you dare
tell me about the battles they fought—
don’t you dare—
