You have my word

One word can change your life.

Body burrows between boundaries broken

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My body is a country invaded by men who’ve stolen land and dreams bigger than they were given to take. Broken laws with no one in charge. Children starve when the hands that feed mouths are furrowed between legs.

My body is a country with immigrants burrowing under boundaries that were never meant to be crossed. Dirtied. Out of place. Running for their lives. I’ve been running for my life since he crossed the border. A nomad man. no man. mad man. Running. With just a fingerprint for a face and a grunt for a name.

It’s a shame that he travels alone. Even in a pack he is the odd one out. Even his family doesn’t call him their own. His wife hides her face. His children carry his–story. Something to show off. But not me.

I am his destination. A journey’s end, though he makes it every day. A self-fulfilling prophecy. Cause and effect. Means to an end. I am the means. I am the end. The end. End. End.

This is not the end.

The wolf cries boy cries wolf

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The wolf cries boy and no one comes running. Not the first time, not any time after that. Every full moon an empty howl fills a sky darker than the bottom of his feet.

He’s been running for too long – dirty and distant – running wild rings around the haunting.

Night descends in a furious wash of colour. Not a timid shower but a flood of blood and violence. His solace hides in a sympathetic sky and his pleads become the wolf.

The boy cries wolf and everyone comes running. To point fingers and to watch the fight.

I won’t have claws and nails here

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When I’m turned up to thunder, savouring the flash of fury in my fists, I am furthest from myself. Wrists bending, threatening to break in the grip of this fight, flesh still singing with the sting of that blow. The wake of this will still stand right here in the morning.

This time won’t be any different. And that’s the difference. She thinks he will change. He knows that his white knuckles – single white roses in a field of red – are his most desperate attempt to grab a hold of himself. He will not change.

I recount in slow motion. Any faster and my head starts to spin (sin, thin white lies, despise, disguise). My demise will be my own fists poised to strike and break the wrists that bend and the bones that breathe life here.

This hurt has held too long too much with its fingers around my heart. It has fueled my own fire, my flash, my fists. It has to go. It has to let go. I can’t grow if it won’t go. Go. Go. Go. God. Go.

I won’t have claws and nails here. Fury be gone. Love, come on, let go. Go. Go. Go. God. Go. Gone.

Fall asleep in the airwaves

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I don’t know if she’ll wake up. I keep my lips close to hers so she can take my air if hers is stolen. She takes my breath away. I give it freely to make space for the place she deserves in my chest.

Her chest heaves with the creaks of years weighted under worlds and wars. She has conquered them all. I lie next to her and wonder, at what cost? How many lives has she lost to find her way home – to sleep in this bed.

Rest now sweet warrior. Rest in peace but not in death. Let the armies carry your guns. Let the children pick flowers for your hair from branches higher than they can reach. Let other mothers lift up your hands. Let me kiss the top of your head.

You are one with my breath. I will watch over, walk with you. Will you let me catch you if you lose your ground? Let me hold you in the grip of your groans while the sky breathes heavy in the dark?