The Poetry Marathon

Black love.
I will not understand your pain
Until you feel my rage in its entirety.

I will not empathize with every death that leaves me just a little more dead
Like starting with numbness—fingers with needles in the tips
Like a blackened lung that will no longer process breath
Like the my fourth toe on my right foot hardening and falling off
Like my left shin (grey on the side) faded and deceased like frost-bitten flesh
Like no nipples left from malignant ravaging
Like three locs of my hair falling out randomly—but not
Like a kidney pounded and destroyed by blood desperately running from stress
Like a vagina sewn tightly with straw and rock
Like my back covered in scales, dark and dry and lifeless
Like fat smothering a heart that is ready to stop breaking

Ready to stop breaking.

This is a lie. I feel your pain because it is my pain inside of your body.

But you will never feel my rage.
You don’t believe it’s real.

Loving the ghost.

Always.

With me.

Never here

But in my blood, through my bones (when they creak and when they cry).

There is no moment without you. I cannot reach you.

Never have I wanted to feel something on my skin as much as yours.

I am grateful. Your spirit is not sufficient.

Your voice haunts me.

(You used to sing to me everyday . . .)

Your love passes through me. Like a dream.

I cannot love like this.

Never here

With me.

Always.

This is my second year doing the marathon and I’m really excited about it! Last year a got a great start and a large chunk of a (then) new project done. I have another perfect this year that I might be working on. Or I might just do it randomly… I guess we’ll see!

Happy Writing, everyone!

– Alana