created life out of bone

& salt. I’m just wondering

would he rather let me wrong.

men are helping hands

& nothing more, to love to

love to love ya..

I had many stories

& none of them defined me.

red-lipped, dimmed room, big hair

I choose music

in the face of ghosts, askin

everyone

“is you gon kill

me or what?”

Bradshaw in these streets

& sweet for a man who drives trains

I’m looking to survive

through pages.

& I’m learning to italicize everything

but my ego