he taught me how to be safe

in my own skin.

do you know what it is like to hate yourself

so much?

to hate your thighs to hate what men have robbed from you

to hate your breath and your tongue and the mouth

that did not belong to you?

i do.

but when i entered your place

you taught me courage.

you taught me to break the fingers that choked me.

you taught me that the thighs i loathed

could choke a man senseless.

you taught me how to drive a knee through ribs;

a fist through the bones of a man's jaw.

you taught me to watch a man throw a punch -

and to, instead, throw the man.

the gratitude i feel is endless -

the trust more so.

i write it here, this promise:

i will be here, unbowed.

We are blade and smoke,

and if we burn in your fire,

be sure of this:

we are awakened from ash,

we are the ocean’s swell and her fall,

we are redder than birth,

and we are just waiting to sink

our teeth in your throat.

- rape was your weapon but weapons we became

brother -

he fell, you know.

we all do.

we all hope to, at least,

fall well.

it seems, though, when they are so young,

that six feet under

is such a long way to fall.