I was asked
not to make a sound
and hold it in;
was ordered to
pray in silent
and never let my please
make a beat;
was called delicate—
dubbed dramatic
for reaching out my arms
for help;
perhaps,
I was wrong
to even pray for you—
to begin with
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoetryI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
