on papa

and all the men my heart has fluttered about,
on the space you take up when you’re here,
and its imposition when you’re not.

for papa who i pray knew nothing then
of the inside of his body,

and all its thriving rot,

for you who shook the wanderlust into my(your) long leg bones…
for you who branded me with brave little guts and the
stubbornest of hearts,

i say now maybe what it was, wasn’t what it was intended to be,
but maybe what it was, was exactly what it needed to be

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