1. what did the red rooster say to the crow? i dont know. and neither do they. but that doesnt stop them from babbling, that doesnt stop them from traveling, down the same dead road again.
2. but then they gave me the pen. and i’ve been writing ever since. since i was five ive been writing to myself to stay alive.
3. strive. writing was my cutting, ink slicing purple dragons into paper, these letters they give me don’t make sense, but i will push and pull with them like the tide, a gentle mare when i am astride.
4. within in me you would take a dive, in day glo aqua, in bite your lip turquoise, in blushing greens, this flushing queen be so fucking mean sometimes, went through the family album it would be keening times, in pictures as kids our frowns were upside down rhymes, my brother yes we had hard times, but where are your love lines, weaning off love made my heart like wood, but then i grew up and i shook it off and i wish i understood, why any of this is, but was is yellow brick road to the wiz, seen him fake and
5. the young ones, god, they are shining brighter and brighter in the morosity. let there be a place for them, the children, the ones growing in our wombs, the dreams, the seams of our reality let them loose, untie the corset baby, daddy likes you the shape you are.
thanks for bearing witness,
roopa singh
