Monday, March 11, 2013

preparing to speak

a flammable target for darts of fire.
when i am old, i will not spray flames
on the young.  i promise to listen.

a little girl called me a boy to hurt my feelings.
i'm not a boy.  i'm not a girl.  i'm not on fire
until the air steals my saliva
and, drying, i shrink
my freckles amassing
my floating ribs scraping and crashed.

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