(Based off of Sagawa Chika's "Morning Bread"
In the morning, I feel
Several rose petal dreams of
You staining my
Fingertips.
Every time I draw something,
The temptation of art turns my
Sketches into murals of you. In
The tangled thicket of my mind,
You are the
End of me. The human wind
Chimes. The sugar that falls into
My pancake
Batter.
I must finally ascend from my descendancy -
To climb past these color lines that have bruised too many skeletons.
I will never again blot out
The history that falls in angry
Teats, down your
Brown face.
I will take off my glasses
And set them nearby, to see
You without all
That's been said about you.
YOU ARE READING
SUNSHOWERS
Non-FictionA book of poetry. A book of tears. A book of blood and sweat, too. A book to hold me. Will you let it hold me?
