“Everyone has written about pain; what makes it unique to you?”
My pain is early, unbeknownst to my psyche until I
became misinformed and mislead through others ambivalence.
My pain levitates in the middle of two races.
My pain is centuries long, my pain is past skin, hair, features, curves.
My pain flickers and solidifies.
My pain is antagonized by both men and women.
Men continue to to take from me–
pressuring me to shape to their ideals,
to spread my soft, thick thighs
to their ready, thin lips.
Women’s words, barbed and poisonous, trickle into
my blood–coursing through my body until I have become
leadened with the words, until the words spit out of me–
replacing my pleasantry with fermented hate.
“Everyone has written about Love; what makes it unique to you?”
Love is the hardest feeling–element–soul-searching entity– to describe
because it transcends through time and common…
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