Words from my less inferior self
tiny lump-like, grown soon into a mass nested
in a pouch, born into a gentle light flesh with tiny limbs and heart sealed in a bottle left off to the shores of critics.
life is like a fairytale but i'm no princess but an anatomy of your clenching-wordage / thorns of its cicatrice engraved beneath my skin—my sunken dark eyes trail a path to your chest you say is full of love, wishing these claw-like-fingers could rip out your heart and wash gently out my contusions in your blood
and i lay on bare on the ground, free from all dark voices and blurred lines
"as i can junket to a world outside the typical hierarchy and human inferiority complex"
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