rage met me when i was molting.
i was pubescent.
sensitive and aching for wholeness
but rage was there to arm me
i defended my fresh layer of skin
my tender breasts
my lengthening legs
i tucked blades into my body hair
protecting the blackness i often ignored before i met rage....
He sat there waiting for his arrival
His parents hating him already, wishing he was sacrificial
His heart so pure and full of hope
Yet he doesn’t know he’s already behind because his mom was smoking dope
He’s ready to have big dreams
Yet he doesn’t know his dad has already left the scene...