My vulture goddess with kite string spine, you dangle on this old leash full of sorrow, your pain grows teeth. Heaven remembers you like a dream, like the dull ache of an old wound, like thoughts of an afterthought. Earth remembers you like a mother, like all the times you rolled and screamed and cursed your chi and wet the soil with your tears. It is true that life has forced you time and time again to set fire to all the things you love and then asks you “why do you keep burning your homes down?”

My fortress of solitude, you wear these dreams like a warning sign. A notice to all audacious enough to penetrate your force fields. Destruction coils deep within your bones and you stain every surface bronze. You, mixing in the poison with your perfume; a barb, a bloody finger, lemon zest, a fourth of sarin, a flame to sear the tongue. Picking fallen fruit and carving them into shapes of stars and skulls. I say open, you scream shatterings into glass.

My beacon of hope, a golden light tower rising from bleak water. It is natural to fear ghosts and memories of men when your heart is full of finger-sized holes, when your heartbeat feels like a roaring storm beneath your ribs. When your skin is a picture of diesel-spun flesh and you catch on every spark, when you remember how they planted themselves like sharp knives into your prey body.

I pray your body is more than just skin stuffed full of feathers. i pray you find yourself again within lighter spaces and learn to be human once more. Busy yourself with growth, stamp out the flames one by one, learn the trees and the way they breathe, keep fighting to not disappear.

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