Three-eyed and hardened, most
horticulturists would advise
against cutting the flowers that
bloom like bullets pouring
from your mouth. Tenderness
is not a disability. A high five,
a handshake, fingers fumbling
to hold on to social order.
What do your father’s arms feel
like? “You run/walk/throw/talk
like a girl.” Did you not emerge
from the body of a woman? Did
a woman not emerge from you?
You named her, but how far
does your dominion extend?
(Uteri often survive any number of
unimaginable traumas.) A prince,
an angel, an artist you are. You
could be. The magic that you cry
wasn’t intended to calcify.
Not every cross is yours to carry,
your fate wasn’t sealed at, Let there
be light. You don’t have to be
the wolf that steals the witch’s
eye. Rise and fall, the death of
a warrior king is inevitable. Perhaps
you were made to be an enchanter.
If your heart be inlaid with
incalculable gold, stop stripping
your words of lavender, for the blood
of the lion is well worth the blood of the lamb.