A woman once captured the moon in a silver birdcage,
where she spoon fed it minced midnight sky - and I never
knew whether she intended to nourish the light or keep her
captive alive and breathing. Yes, I heard the night sky
was safe to breathe, but a paper doll ought to be scared
of the night forest snatching her ribbon curls with sick
intentions. Branches too close to hands, always
too close to hands. I am always avoiding
hands these days because I carry a chrysanthemum
attached to my pinkie with a ball of yarn. My mossy
forearms grow up until they reach my Hydrangea
shoulderpads. I shake my grassy hair - watch the floral
patterns seeping out of my skin and around my thigh.
I am a child. I am living growth. I am blooming.
I am being eaten away.
I don’t remember who slashed open my stomach,
But one day I noticed green vines spilling out,
And all I could do was lay on my side and look
At the stars, but I could not see the moon.
Blood leaked from the veins of leaves but still
I wondered who had taken the moon from the
I love how beautiful and surreal the opening lines are. They really set the tone for the rest of the Poem. “Minced midnight sky” 👌🏻