Yes,
even with my tender
places,
my numb spots,
all the ways it is hard
to breathe,
I beg to believe
myself enough so when
I touch this fragile
casing skin of a body, I say
yes,
here,
in this place,
I am whole,
unbroken,
an unapologetic fire of
rage
and love and right and
yes,
here,
I am unfolding creation
that speaks
courageously against
fear, and doubt, and
yes,
here,
in all these scarred
and aching places
we shall only ever know
that courage lived
and power blossomed
here
is where this beautiful
was created
so yes
there is destruction.
There are places of
unbreathing, fearful loss,
there are depths of
unending still ache that ripple,
I know this poem
is the one I keep
writing
assure myself you are
tired of reading, but never
feel I can make
the words heard
for I am here
holding these
contradictions that can only land
when obscured by metaphor,
and even
when I am most precise.
Pointing to this place
here --
yes,
here--
this place
it is still a home of
invisible,
of masked ruin,
here
there are depths that
flatten my lungs,
this type of alone is
not adjective,
is not noun, not place
is not noun, not place
not somewhere I
reside,
this alone is a verb
that reaches
all boundaries -
yes,
here,
in these aching places,
yes,
I am here,
here,
yes
still
now
living
breathing
aching
here.
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