Biography of Children in Illegal Images

This is generic, so could     not

            possibly be

about love.  Maybe, I like

being that terrifying light

everyone falls for, even if those           fleeting

 

moments are only present

rarely.  Even if those moments

make the steel of my work

boots unusable.  Still,

my own light frightens me—

 

given how men become deranged

at the simple sight of my

 

body. Something

to conquer.  Defeat is

never a gift.  Only aggressors win

the right to narrative. Not I.  I

 

become just a thing

 

to pass around.  I’ve met

only one man who can even guess

the brittles which scrub so hard

my skin serrates in lines of red

from my feet to head

while I weep. When I think of you

never seeing

the light I found in the dead

 

museum locked deep inside

where no one can ever go

          except me, I know the world

is wrong. Light can radiate

despite fear     of        falling.   

                    The same

falling is felt when you

 

pulled down some crimson 

brick,

the gray

grainy mortar 

just enough

 

to let me shine 

brightest. Longed 

            for understanding—never

wished for, because I have never

met a man who didn’t 

want to

possess me

in some way—is an accident of the mind’s

failing.  You must 

stay alive for me.

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1 Comment

  1. A most interesting portrait of inner self in these lines.


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