I lose my words somewhere in the city
and the streets are more alive than I am these days
and these days are no days for poetry
and these days the poetry do not trip over themselves in the leaving,
there is no space for them to settle
my body has become a planet unchartered
new lines I do not recognize that make homes of my skin
sometimes I feel like forgiveness
and love is the only language I speak
but growing up has never been less graceful,
and hope has felt so far away, lately
lately hope has tasted more foreign
and anger fits my body better
and love is so big, so
overwhelming, my body is still growing into it
I do not know what love looks like,
(and that much has never been a secret)
but it comes in the middle of the week
and leaves me exhausted by Sunday
I do not recognize myself in these aftermaths
there is no victory music for surviving the hurricane in my skin
no after-party when I have left the city
and there is one less body on the streets
