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I stood standing in front of the bathroom mirror at the age of 7
Hoping to open my eyes wide enough to look more like the pairs of my parents’
Appearances never changed
But always tried to rearrange
Whitewash the thoughts of the guilt
of a concept I could never frame
So I tacked i up on the backwall of my closet
Pretending that I lost it amidst stockpiled piles of misplaced anger

Maranatha
Jehovah Rapha
Raah
Nissi
Shammah

I saw the sky pour scarlet lines
Like etchings on crooked palms

Cliff edge dances beside crevasse lined cracks
Hesitation lost with each soft soled advance
Toes point to heaven with angelic rhythm
A heels kiss away from countless schisms
She dances from men’s advances
Keeps her head in her book
far from the callous glances
She takes the public transit

The skin of my body
is the skin of a drum
Every lash across my ribs
conducts percussive song
Scarified 16 bars
A note for every flaw
Each wound
Connecting like constellations