Challenge
Poetry matters: $250 on the table for the writer who nails form, content, and fire. Three judges will help select the winner. There is a lot of talent here so swing for the fences. Good luck to all.
Punishment
Every day I pick at old scars-
pain to remind me of my misdeeds.
This way, perhaps, being locked away
isn’t in vain. A cage for my punishment,
though it can feel restricting,
broken wings can no longer fly.
It is true, at times, shackles-
they can feel heavy,
But I will gladly carry this burden.
Regret tries to steal bits of light left
in my heart. So I remember-
violence-the way broken bones ache,
and the impossibility of seeing through black
eyes. Suddenly, defense was my only crime.
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