I keep applying logic
To myself like a salve,
But what is the anatomy
Of distrust? The long
Femur of adult bullying
With the connective tissue
Built by long talks with
Uncles and aunts who forgot
Your name in the blindness of
A family rage; shoulder
Blades that fall concave at
The sound of feet stomping
Or a broken glass that mimics
The aural sensations of
An anger triggered by the
Smallest nothings of being
Alive in the same space
As someone so broken so as
Not to know the meaning of
Their own life, so as not to
Know the salve that they too
Needed to apply to the
Sores that they spoke out
Of so harshly. Where does the
Logic go to talk its way out
Of centuries of inherited fear,
Whispering prayers into
Palms like an IV?

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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