Jul 10, 2017 · 1 min read
Conversations on Otherness
“I have inherited your war. The fighting is over but I can’t put down arms. Don’t know how to carry bouquets instead of bullets. This is all you’ve ever taught me.”
“He asks me to be less of a shell. That I should use my feet to dance, not run. I reply that my feet can’t retrace the scattered bits of me.”
“I ask him if he has me confused for a star-filled sky. I am a vortex, a black pit swallowing everything whole”
