For my strivers, one from the archives to add to my new Brick House Collection
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…
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