He winked his commands
along my body until he reached
the iron curve of my hips.
A cutting from Athena’s rose
I owned the yes of my blooming
and the thorny reach of my no.
He thought he’d dance me through
the devil’s garden only to find
he wasn’t given the power to lead.
I screamed into the wind,
“Give me your worst,
bits of hell
purchased with a liar’s tongue.
The storm is always with me
even when the moon
tangles my hair with dreams.”
of a dead valentine,
a loveless lullaby hummed
through the throat of delirium.
Today is another matchstick
on the bonfire I breathe,
the scar chasing me with
its knife I won’t let cut me.
I will be strong even if I fall.
Every weakness in me will find
its shaman to pulse my spirit
with survival.
