the blueshift journal

All i do   these days is swell
count the    blood trapped
inside me       slow to realize
its own jail       puffy blues
tapestry of       ghosts, i know
tear better        than my own
name pray      for the memory
of running        stubborn flesh
weeping        muscle, all i do
is swell            complain about
blood        silly fragile Black
boy            forgot the rules
what makes you holy
is always thinner than
you would like
a curse    on all my soft
and i      couldn’t tell you
who             conjured it if i
tried      i barely remember
what        i was before the
ache     and split and swell
maybe    i was beautiful