By | 1 June 2022

She al-ways said
I was a good
one—shape shif-ter child
heart like a spider web
guess it makes sense.

Surviv-al is adapt-at-ion and old
Black Hood has been at my heels since birth
yellowed forehead squalling
under humid-icrib lights.
Too-soon, too-small, couldn’t
hold me for days
maybe why I still hit the deck
inside hospit-als.

Can’t list-en to heart-beats
not mine, or any
one else ’s.
One Eas-ter she hid
a live rabbit inside
my back-pack its shock puls-ing
through ribs into my hands

I could n’t bear to hold it
can’t ever rest
my head on a lover ’s chest;
haunted by palpit-a-tions.

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