what i carry

Such normalcy begins my life

How regular, how true!

Paper books and jewelry

Clasped by iron;

Silver hooks and rings

Wooden pencils stamped with numbers.

Nothing I keep in canvas tombs is spectacular at all.

But within, ah, inside

The tightness that stalks my breath

My belongings portend not the million rhymes – a thousand lives! – that cry within my head.

At any given moment, paper is in my blood

Ink and swirling words unborn

That live within the crimson flood.

Shaped not by what I carry

Rather what has clung to me;

Pains, and deformities

Torn bones and clicking knees.

My body at times is weak; my limbs move of their own accord

I cannot say why the bones inside

Curve how ribs should never do.

Also, soul-kept, are memories

Of blinding light that touched my skin;

Healing stars that burst with love and

Cured the screaming flame within.

But gnashing teeth, pale shadow-wraiths

Haunt my bones with  bitter cold.

They cut apart the light

They want it to bleed out into pale mockeries;

I fight with everything I me

To tame them, make them warm, my own.

I was given words to battle

All the shadows that bleed inside

My words creep past with tainted wings

And burn the darkness as they fly.

Subsequently, consequently, the light prevails in the end.

The blending shadow harmony of all that cuts into my soul

Is gone!

Fades away – just a memory, wavering – never even sure of itself.

But I must carry it all the same.

I tear with words of sharpened sound

They break the cold that pins me down

I feel them warm me, fight what numbness is left.

Words of breath and wind and love –
they cling to me now, my armor, my gift.


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