by nourayasmine   Sep 24, 2022

You broke your pen in half,
a year ago.

You tore off your blood-soaked
bandages, ran to the
door and screamed in the face of
the brutal city.

The victim custom was always
too tight on you.

When you catch glimpses
of debris in your drawer and it's hard to
fall asleep, you get up
and dance, golden curls
flying away from your shoulders.

Where you come from, even
a fetus in a womb
learns to burst and scratch,
roar and revolt,
ravage their way out
of the darkness.


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