By D-Davis

i. (a mirror cracks)
their brilliance too loud—
my beauty dressed in soft
shapeless, round, thin skin
with too many thoughts.
a house of money language
silencing my second tongue
mistaking quiet for ignorance
weight for waste
mind for nothing worth mining.
tried to be a daughter
a little girl in pastel
but always a thunderstorm in lavender—
half-boy, half-dream
named 'two spirit' girl.

ii. (unseen echoes of the family table)
raised glasses to promotions
to “success” 
to what neighbors thought
but no one toasted the mind;
ideas—uninvited guests—drowned 
in gravy and selfish gossip.
retorts dismissed as overthinking
silence mistaken for sulking
writing called nothing.
the art of being invisible
the science of shrinking—
swallows insults whole
as the throat forgets to sing.

iii. (a single heartbeat of body and illness)
as cells staged their own rebellion
pain moved like a permanent tenant—
rent-free, loud, merciless
body—a house I never chose—
leaking its secrets through the skin
while doctors stared through me 
like I was smoke or a prop.
onstage girls pointed tongues
friends faded into pixels
reflection became a rumor
too painful to chase.

iv. (leaving to a drumbeat)
riding the rails at fifteen—
no note 
no apology
journals in a backpack
hungering, grieving
outgrown pain 
what could have been life.
in the back rows of buses,
cold stages of half-lit theaters
trembling hands of people—
like-minded 
too much and not enough.
We live in the spirit 
of unmistaken light—
not as mess
not lost
but flying—
above the sky.
 
v. (becoming a breath)
I am not a product of pity.
I am the architect of becoming.
my body breaks
the voice—endures
call me what you will:
girl, ghost, heretic—inured
I am all of them 
and none of them
to master fate
and captain my soul.