Rachy has me in tears this morning.
I take rejection like a winner, spit the blood
from my mouth when you’ve finished
pounding childhood
trauma into my lungs, smile through the bruises,
keep your secrets in my throat, along with your name.
I won’t speak you into existence.
My body tapped out but my Spirit’s in the ring, I won’t go down.
Fists don’t need words to speak, shades of you staining my cheekbone, a child’s signature.
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