Silent

She walked like a penguin

She walked like a penguin.

#1.2

She would never forget that her flesh was marked with a label like the one on the back of his jacket, or how they played with the brown of her skin like they were dogs and she was scrap leather. But no one else would know.

No one would remember. 

I am well

I have been losing again.
Each day, an uphill struggle
with double-edged swords
that come in the form of
literary chromosomes.

I’m stuck wondering and
prying, forgetting what I am
for the pleasure of being
somewhat happy in an
unknown habitat. A zone
of no comfort.

They say that I am a libra
and so I must know how
to weigh my priorities right.
They’re wrong. They always
have been. Stars can never
help me win this battle.