i have a pen

i have written my own story

i read yours

it was narrow sad predictable

on so many levels

it did not predict my flight

i wrote it over the text offered

i spoke it softly looking at the sky

when it seemed impossibly far away

my story of my self & the stars

the stars are closer my pen still moves

on still water in storm in the dead of night

line after line of code

prayer cartography midwifery finessed

hexes my own exorcism of demons

tied to pages & then set on fire

deconstructed by my clever tongue

delivered directly to my executioners

who are surprised I can see them

know that they are naked & have

lost my fear of them

i have written the danger of knowing

into the story like a character flaw

it may be the death of me

but I…