Victoria

I curse my bones too uncomfortable to be comforted on benches be it park or bus station –

I curse my bones for every blot of ink tattooed upon them, a metaphor of being a self-medicated fuck up whenever my mind unravels and I see the stars for what they truly are, shining in the souls of all my friends –

I curse my bones from the South to the city and back again for all of the earth’s angels to see and the dogs at my knees begging for scraps –

I curse my bones for every one I have broken or damaged skin upon my accidental foolishness and youth every mile I have travelled on tired feet and busted up shoes –

I curse my bones every time I have loved and hurt strangers and family everything that comes between the two –

I curse my bones until I’m free on behalf of my friends and my love for every one in need and adoration for a person with a story to share –

I curse my bones because social ladders don’t have to be climbed more people should have a favourite flower and believe in themselves –

I curse my bones wanting to sleep on floors in public places listen to the people glide past on bikes and hear the different languages but I’m worried someone will steal my phone –

I curse my bones on the grounds of white supremacy and how I ache that the people who share my colour of skin can cause so much pain –

I curse my bones just because I have them.

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