she wants her hands upon the tool / the danger that it holds compels
PTSD / doesn’t happen to me / that’s for soldiers / and survivors of abuse
sometimes what lies behind
portals with padlocks will scare
you so much that you think you will die…
and now July can come to me /
my soul no more disjoint, it’s free
How long can that caterpillar stay in chrysalis before it dies and can never emerge?
I need you to see some flesh on the jagged bones of the life themes I’ve expressed in my poetry.
memories of freedom won’t fly anymore