a part of me,
the part that's good at biting its tongue,
wants these wounds to
bleed silently
but, I choose to live
a life clothed in white cloth
and let the stains scream louder
than the one trapped in my throat.
they adorn my body
with the stories of my
creation, a divine *******
clung upon my skin.
I have no bluff
no cards up my sleeve.
I only hope that in brazen openness
they will pity me.
flowers bloom
and beguile the hungry bees
to come and taste,
lest their stories die with them.
so too,
I stand here draped in bloodied white
praying to God that someone
will find something worthy.
