Xaviera Hernandez
we were once friends
but now your words are nails
hammered into wooden planks
(do you feel the splinters
grafted into your palms?).
slowly, you build a box
around me: my height in length,
enough space for one embrace.
you pour the dirt over me.
my words are cotton balls inside
my throat. i stare at you
until the choking earth
blocks you from my sight.
Even when you were reallllyyy young you had a knack for writing. Now you have tools to disseminate and process what you want and don’t want.
Whatever made you write this, I can feel your heart hurting.
You’ve taken a bad situation and turned it into a beautiful piece, as only you can do!
Beautiful, Xavie!
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