what it means to call a city by it’s old name (2023)
ba, i know in my heart
that you believe i am weak
but father,
i know war too.
a confession, that i have tasted the tears
of someone broken.
for i am at war
with a boy whose face i will never know.
how he raised his arms towards a body
i am too ready,
too willing,
to die for.
only do i appear, after the bombs have subsided.
my lover in pieces,
her bed, a raft in flames
remaining afloat.
how she learned silence in his presence
the tip of his penis smoking like a revolver.
his mouth a language, that i have grown accustomed to through her tongue.
his hands, foul, stained a hue of burgundy,
that can never be washed off
even beneath sheets of white waves.
his face now,
beautiful
as she tells me, painting portrait.
the exit wound he leaves,
inviting me to be something i am not
to fight a losing war,
a war that ends in a place
where i can no longer recall your name.