Mouth’s have become ancient Funeral homes with weathered Stone walls for cheeks, crookedly Indented by stick figures of mental Slavery in petroglyphic rock art Carvings, dancing off beat on bleeding Gums as shadow puppets of Alkebulan Ancestors with knees planted firmly In ashy soils scorched, by flaming Hatred intended to cremate memories Engraved deeply...

“but he apologized.” “he served his time.” “we should move on from this.” “he said sorry…” but apologies don’t fix broken women. apologies don’t make it easier to breathe. apologies don’t make walking down the street alone easier. they don’t take away the nightmares, they don’t make the flashbacks stop. stop… but he didn’t....

I AM SORRY I am sorry that when time comes I never know where to go. I try to tread carefully to avoid hurting the grass but my feet have long destroyed the ground. The sound of my footsteps awakens the souls long gone. How then should I maneuver with no direction? Give me...