Battle boys are meant for war
Your brittle bones aren’t buoyant enough to survive heaven
Sometimes my lungs get too heavy to hold my breath,
I’ve asked him,
aren’t you glad I found you in my throat,
singing harmonies down my spine.
He tells me,
this is what healing feels like
burning alive.
I’m from the south of your tongue,
North of your skin,
I stripped my dignity in the 6th grade when I became to “heterosexual” to look myself in the mirror
I’ve been practicing how to tighten my rope,
Sexuality isn’t something we share in your house,
I’m becoming an expert at your craft.
Good boys sit in their closets,
they learn to play beneath the bible scriptures they were never included in.
I make melodies out of men like you
Who question the holiness of their own church
I listen to you lie to yourself,
Are you afraid that your tongue will slip
from your teeth
like the men you’ve made confessions out of
Talk to me
without shedding your skin after every question
I’ve learned from you
that snakes get nervous under pressure
Are you ready to attack again
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