Bittersweet mornings tracing my father’s back howling in summer grasses
(Un)Spoken Territory
The rhythm of thieves and killers plays in my mouth every day, blasting colonized letters up my throat and Piecing my words into grave reminders— breathing my mother would invite me to doom. I would never speak for myself again. Like a ghost, I wish on midnight stars that I could poison my bastard tongue, ridding its rule from my spirit.