a blood red rose blooms through my gut

as hands from everywhere tear at my skin

sensation falls like petals of a wilted flower from my body.

i feel everything and then not much at all.

i cannot see the garden around me

or smell the floral perfume

or touch the soft petals

i only hear the ominous buzzing of angry bees

paralyzing me with anticipation

i've always been angry
it has been a burning in my bones
an acid in my stomach
a restless warrior in my head.
some may say
i came into this world
looking for a fight.
but i'd argue that when i was born
the fight found me.
it was passed down
from generations of women
with hands branded into their bodies
and tongues cut out of their bloodied mouths.
i yearn for rest
but their stories push me back into the ring.
there is work to be done
fights to be won

nothing is wrong
but something doesn’t feel right
i am an actress in a play who has tears in her eyes
because the script changed and
now she doesn’t know her lines.
the spotlight burns on my skin
i know this is a defining moment
the universe has its eyes on me
but all I can do is speak echoes of what I rehearsed
Uncertainty and Anxiety press against my chest
as if trying to break through my ribcage
and crush my heart
i want to leave the stage
quit the play
burn the script
but I love my role too much
and I want those flowers when the curtain falls