This is my fist in the air
for the moment you decided my body was yours to take
like I was some sort of window
you could shatter
in hopes of
gold, crisp green,
and shiny black screens.
•
This is my fist in the air
for the time you said
“come on, I did it to you
so you have to also.”
Two- way streets aren’t required
in every part of town,
at every moment in time
my bedroom is no different
•
This is my fist in the air
for stinging words like salt
to fresh wounds
for uncalled for outbursts,
bombs detonating,
no time to cut the wires
•
This is my fist in the air
for assumptions
and mistaking silence for consent
For
“you’re going to just pump and dump?”
The moment
my body unfroze
•
For that 2 am
“kit”
Losing my favorite outfit
to evidence
and the book that was never
thrown
at your
despicable
fucking
face
•
this is sweat dripping
from sore temples
soccer ball
bouncing right back to me
pants and sighs of relief
•
This is going out anyways
on those nights I’m tempted
to just dance
with shame instead
•
This is trauma informed asanas
and beaming students
this is breaths of fresh air
and limbs
slowly
turning back into a temple
•
This is where my story continues
regardless of sore knuckles
this is the feeling of crisp air
as it graces their edges
this is the clouds they’ll touch
once I make it
back to the sky.
