my arms are bruised.
i am bound with rubber bands and
scars. evil
is imminent. my skin is torn
into angry red strips
that burn into my calloused soul
patriarchy maiming
my subtle flesh.
i am not
clear skies or solemn gray;
i am swollen
to perfection--
each breath that passes through
another
step
towards
absolution,
the abolishment
of feeling.
somehow,
i will cut myself into
small pieces
that can survive
the storm.