by VANS www.watermelaninmag.com Photo by Alan Cabello c/o pexels i won't say life has always been hell but i've never felt heaven either. trenching through mud, sinking with each step, dusty olive green, and brown, and brown, and brown, just to keep ourselves warm. renaming parts of our bodies ‘til they seem to fit. ‘til we made eden. fear is a noose that wasn't made to fit our necks, so it bound our wrists instead. but you still look for hornbills in trees that aren't there anymore. and i still mistake stray lights for the moon. surely, the sky ought to mean more than this. freedom is a wire frame greenhouse that seems to be hanging from clouds, dome-vines and balcony-sun. a moon. wind for windows. and birdsong for rain. freedom is this. this kingdom we made from purgatory and olive green and brown and brown and brown and these unceremonious crystals of our misshapen bones. freedom has never meant heaven for us.
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August 2019
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