[this was written sometime in August/September of this year, edited now]

we grew from trees, roots
disenchanted, disenfranchised
twisted, tethered down
tied to the earth and the sky
not free, never free
never belonging

they said we weren’t whole
an incomplete accident
a sick joke
written down a bathroom wall
smeared, cheap lipstick
red across the mirror

we blossomed, unstoppable
arrows of poison words, lies
shot us from the sky
falling into nets outstretched
fishers of men
and we lived

wind-blown diaspora
glowing neon lights
tainted day-glow
desecrated but alive
subterranean resistance

tattooing our existence on rock ceilings
bruised purple, sort of greenish-yellow
rebirth from the ashes
returning to the sky
— shitting on their cars

[see, i don’t only write haiku :p]


2 responses to “phoenix

  1. Nice imagery. I particularly like “arrows of poison words, lies” — so often feel like words are sharper and more weapon-like than people give them credit for. They rip and shred and tear apart lives.

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