The Riff
Here I lay in my bed
Heart beating out of my chest,
Pulsing outward so deep
That I friction the air
The rain stops,
The clouds part
And a stripe of blue lays
Across the sky like a scarf
Rippling in the wind.
I am not of the kind
To change. I would dig
My heels into the ground
Fight with bloody knuckles
And skinned knees. But every
Raw hurt is a wound to heel
And new skin to grow
Over the old. No matter
How much I fight,
My body always finds
A way to fill in all this blank space.
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