By Leslie Baker   (Milwaukee, Wisconsin)

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I am told to expose my heart,

bear it like sticky peanut butter

to be gobbled up, devoured,

then spit out and rejected, only

to be born again?

 

 

So now I stretch my hand, palm out,

towards your essence. Towards those eyes

like laser swords cutting my flesh

and burning my soul.

 

 

And please, scatter the ashes under my rug

so tomorrow's children will have

at least one monument

to mourn.