I survived. That’s all there is to say 
about the trampling. A forest or

some grand ecosystem of 
machetes hidden in cheeks.

What a mouth. The beast of the beast. 
Everything I am can kill me

or give another reason to operate 
from uneducated fear. I’m from

where love is. Bones don’t weigh a death. 
I need to have a word with all the gods

that failed me. They wear masks and 
vernacular like those whose caskets I’ve prayed next to.

They feed me pitted pomegranates full of smoke. There are 
no angels. Just good people and the memories they become.

Press your wrists to your ears. Slow the world down. 
Leave hope and learn your song. All I have are

my lungs to breathe, my mouth to speak, my legs to 
proceed and my arms to make my enemies fall.

All enemies I’ve been, fall, now. I will not hurt myself but 
I will save myself even if it hurts. My body is learning

to heal and runs on tactical forgiveness. The ones who 
lied to me, about me, on me have been forgiven

how the wind forgives the large blade swung through it. 
How the blade forgives itself for being mishandled and

chooses only to understand those who need weapons 
to feel bigger than their own body. An overwhelming

space. I burn and there is no smoke. I excavate, 
I’m wrestling skeletons out of my mouth.

I’m catching up with who I want to be. 
I’m saying day after day, I live

the harder it will be to kill me.