What I Know of Flowers That Weep Rainbows

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

I hold memories in my hand

The past in my feet.

My rock of a head turns left,

In awe of all that I see.

I have this rock,

a rock of a pen,

and this rock of a body,

in my hand.

It is Our memory-

Of more births,

of collective barrenness,

of dismissing fathers,

and not seeing mothers-

in Us all.

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