Hurt for reasons ignored.
Erased.
Whole towns sunken.
Brilliance disregarded.
It is insidious, the silence.
I wake up burning with words unsaid.
Unable to confront people because I grew up in such a warring atmosphere that shutting down and retreating is instinct.
Being touched without permission.
Harassed and cloistered.
Having to ask permisssion to celebrate my culture.
Stalked and threatened by people who hate that they can't chain me.
Decide for me just how much happiness or success they'd prefer to ration.
Pandered to. Manipulated.
Disrespected.
Unprotected
Do not hurt me and dare tell me the way my wounds look are obscene.
How dare I heal?
It must be done with energy surpassing the smug audacity that dealt the first blow.
In defiance of evil, erasure, and invalidation
Oh, yes I love myself.
I have to because being good at something puts a target on your back.
In reverance, for those who have their wings, and for a family of sharecroppers and misfits I heal myself.
In the center of my entire self where I open the altar of my heart to God and the angels that flank me I pray for myself.
Hurt. Pulling ourselves together.
Statuesque grace and demure tears.
Too colorful.
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