100 / a deal

Don’t take my fire:

the ancestral flame that sheds so much light on bloodshed that we all can see our feet-stain.

Don’t take my colors:

the ones I pulled from the rainbow and stitched to my bones, the ones learning to love their spectrum, their beginning, their infinity.

Don’t take my salt:

the sunken truth that rises from the dirty ocean and follows you like it still remembers how to be clean rain, like your sails and structures cannot stop its seep.

Here is the deal:

Don’t take words out of my mouth, and I won’t put words into yours.

12 thoughts on “100 / a deal


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