Here’s the offer:
I swallow the bomb of my trauma
and it keeps me silent
unless I spew it.
Mouth full of metal,
peanut butter on the roof of my
fridge,
I won’t take the deal
cuz
I know you
never had to bleed like the moon for a miracle,
never wore so many scars across your face
that the pain all muddled the same.
It’s okay
if the nuclear core
in the sky bleeds the sunlight,
just let him sleep,
I’ll set my heart on the table
like a scrubbing sponge
and wash the damage clean.
***
header photo by Julia Malushko on Pexels.com
find my published books at this link
Jordyn Saelor 