The prophet in my heart bleeds rusty sermons
while flowers push through cracked cement
tickling my soul’s long walk, softening it,
until sun’s filtered light exposes
scores of melted scars
feeding on my tender flesh.
Before morning, I exist as I am.
Torment crawls under darkness,
my life swept aside. Sometimes
when the moon is new, I hum.
In burnt confession, I took on the persona of someone with visible burn scars. For inspiration, I imagined the main character of the young adult book, Firegirl, grown-up. For further inspiration, I used the wordle words from The Sunday Whirl. Visit the whirl for more pieces using the word’s in the wordle below: