They call it a gift,
this body of mine,
but every month it gnaws at itself,
chews the lining of my womb,
spits out blood like a sacrifice
to a world that does not care.

I step outside,
eyes crawl up my skin like ants,
like maggots,
like fingers that never asked for permission.
A whistle slits the air—
a razor against my spine—
I swallow the bile, keep walking.

Mother said, don’t wear that
Father said, boys will be boys
I say nothing—
only dig my nails into my palms,
so deep the crescent moons bloom red.

I dream of shedding this skin,
peeling it back like an overripe fruit,
scraping out the parts that feel *****,
that feel weak,
that feel like they do not belong to me.
I want to be new,
to be sharp,
to be something they cannot touch.

But even in dreams,
they chase me.
Even in dreams,
I run.

They say…  
it wasn’t messy  
until the cat.  

The cat just wanted to play,  
but somewhere along the way,  
she ran into a human like us.  

Together, they began  
to play with the red string.  

They say…
before the human,  
there was no method to the string—  
just thrown about,  
knotted inexplicably.  

But then man came  
and saved the day.  
The string and cat said, “Hooray!”  

They say…
man showed up  
with rules:  
“The string isn’t a toy,  
it’s a tool.  
Throwing it about  
would be cruel.  
People could trip,  
and one day,  
the string could rip.”  

They say…
they all agreed  
to move the string  
to a different corridor,  
behind a big door.  

“Any questions?”  
A little hand rose up.  
She was lost in the crowd,  
a girl I hadn’t noticed before.  

Her question sent ice to my core:  
“Then why is there red string  
all over the floor?”  

I snapped,
“There is no red string  
on the floor!”  
If they hear her question
Will it be safe for us anymore
The air grows heavier
Much too heavy to breathe
The sounds of heavy footsteps
Now growing louder than a horn
I’ve never heard knocks like this before
Why does it sound like a war
on the other side of the door?
All for a little girl?
Is that what all of this is for?

But then I looked down  
and barely began to see—  
the red string  
had tangled me.  
And by scolding the girl
Instead of letting it be
Have I sentenced her to a fate
just like me?

Too stunned,  
to speak,  
too stuck,  
to move—  

Her soft knowing eyes met mine
With the truth that mine were too calloused to realize
What They say…
might be too good  
to be true.


They say…
they lived happily ever after
They say…. “They will never all question us anyway.”
They say…

A splitroad lies forth
As I gander north
Will I make it east
Or have i not seen the least

The limbo hides the fork
Same as I've always thought
Now will I reach for the gun
Now that I'm no longer numb

Ive walked alone all through

The silence promising torture

Yet nobody bothered to shadow

And when i did get a shadow

That made the rays less scorching

It became a thing

To condemn my soul

To condemn my company

It Didn't matter

That my smiles were bigger

On some days brighter

Its their own thoughts,
Their own designs

That was most important

Yet its ironic

How clueless

How self absorbed they are

That its my soul

Never theirs

And I've never tried to disarm theirs

By the odds of life; tell me what are the odds
you’ll know the rhythm of a bee’s heartbeat –
And as you skip a stone across the water's surface,
would the river’s heart skip a beat?

know that all of creation are alive too…

I am alive too, as my skin feels beat; self-discipline
is no easy feat – for the flesh is weak, but has the
strength to torment your mind the entire week.

But we are more than skins; capable of beating
the odds, of giving to our skins.

I thought I could outrun the weight,
but the burden was never mine—
like a passenger begging for control,
but only the crash was waiting,
and I didn't even scream.