How's it going, these days?
   Pretty good.
How's your family been?
   I wouldn't know--
   I renounced the blood.
   In doing so, I kicked the sick.
   I can't make a better world, but
   I can pen an ending to this ancient curse.

   I can choose a family,
   & I chose the
   vertebrae that
   puts my spine back
   in alignment.

I always had this choice.
Now I can see it.
I can let the blood,
and guarantee the world,
I'll have no progeny.

Trust me, when I say
it's my gift
to you and yours.

;)

She sat there with her rusty voice box, a  drought on her tongue and a pen aching to flood the pristine sheet with blue ink.
She poured pain into words of refuge and tucked the love etched memories into words.
She wrote to the ones she loved, who made her heart beat ever so intensely. For who rooted her strengthening her spine with courage. For the ones who betrayed, abandoned and hurt making her swallow sorrows whole on empty stomach.
She undressed her truth as she painted shades of past, resurfacing the suppressed from the dustiest parts of her mind, reigniting the dying embers. As she wrote thoughts screamed to be heard, memories weeped to be replayed as she crafted sentences, paragraphs, beginning and ends, sunrises and sunsets; the breathing of her heart allowing her to feel a sense of relief.
But she never sent them, for they were riskier to be read by them than to be tucked safely away.

I'll whisper my secrets
to the stars and pray
you are far, far away,
because my darkest
desires, and
wildest dreams
were not meant for you,
my dear.
They were meant for the
boy with the tree at his
spine and
all of my fantasies
on his
fingertips.

I keep slicing reality
With the Knife of Reason,
Yet brushing winds
Carry scents of hope.

Neuron connections of
Misconceptions -
Is that causation
Or empty words?

I keep dicing my days
Climbing the ego
Of a shoreless mind
You keep coming my way
Wearing nothing but bands
Around your thighs -
Limelight moments.
Ticking clocks.
Shivers
Down my spine.

Standing here, feeling the fear creeping up my spine
Like clouds covering sunshine
Monsters peaking from every little corner
I continue the suffering from this cancerous disorder
Shadows and danger crossing my border
My pile of hope is shrinking shorter
As mortars are tossing shells of torture
I who said to be a warrior
Ended a mourner

The kingdom rejoices
The prince has found
A maiden to marry.
But she wasn’t the first.
We all know the story
About the innocent
Young girl the prince
Fell in love with and
He is a hero because
She is telling the story.
She doesn’t know better.
He loved another, you see,
And she who would have been queen
Gets shuffled off to somewhere quiet.
Told to never tell
And left to obscurity.
That was their mistake.
Princes are born,
Born into privilege
Born into power
Born into position
But queens are made.
Made from steel
Made from secrets
Made from smoldering ashes.
They are royalty of themselves
In whatever domain
And they rule.
The point of this tale is:
The kingdom threw away a princess
But they made a queen.
Long may she reign.