it's one in the morning
and i have so many emotions
swelling in the space between
my lungs

the space where
i imagine my soul
resides

i don't know
why, but i feel
i know
that my soul is a tangible
expanding, moving
thing
trapped in my ribcage
my fragile bones are
a birdcage for
the paper bird that is my soul

it really does feel
like it can fly
sometimes,
like now
the darkest hour of the night
or when
i let certain songs
permeate my skin
and sink into my bones

my soul is an *****
visceral, necessary
for my very survival.
a comforting weight
in the space between my lungs
when i lose my grip
or my breath
i can feel it, always there
it grounds me.

I often forget the count
of the times when
taunts that pierce like arrows
have wounded me.

I do not remember if
it was once
or a gazillion times that
I have tasted the dust
mixed with the red of my blood.

I, however, smirk a little
everytime I fall to the ground.
I then get up again
and begin my fight once more.

I only hear people around me
singing along to the melody of love.
But I sing a song of courage
and the caravan of life goes on...

I never knew a song
to have eyes
Never knew a song
to look back
To sing, without a single word set free
To fill me to the brim with music
not sound
To shimmer and shake
Consumed with stories
Stumbling over one another to make themselves heard
and seen
But then again
I never knew a poem
Could be buried
In the wrinkles of a palm