she touches her lips and wonders at them, another hand resting over her belly. there are flowers blooming there she did not know existed until one day she took a knife and cut herself open just to see what she was made of. surprised she watched as dusky soft petals unfurled themselves to greet the sun they’d been so long denied.
they are still growing and on some days they choke her throat with something like sadness, her eyes watering as it washes over her. this pain is her redemption as she finally lets grow what should have been in the first place and she greets each new bloom with a soft kiss.
perhaps in time she will be a garden and in it she will find healing.
my chest is a cathedral with arches for ribs my heart at the altar pounding away at the keys to the organ, its pipes filling me with a song the aria rising to the top of the dome to kiss the angels painted there
my skin / blisters under the heat of your / anger, burning like ethanol, blue-hot. / nobody can see it. / and your hands / kerosene / leave scorch marks /on my body / pull ragged breaths / and pained screams from / the depths of my soul. / it sets my lungs on fire. /can’t you hear them? / or have the flames / drowned them out?
many springs have come and gone, but for her, youth is a permanent state of being. flowers never fade beneath her feet. the sun is in her smile. she reminds you of a girl you once knew as a child. come play, she beckons. you follow, feeling the chill of winter fade in her grasp. in her field of eternal spring, you are reborn.