jane keenan
a new dissonance, like the vibration in my chest.
an emptiness tugged at my breasts.
calling “feed me, i long to live. i long for the freedom you preach. feed me.”
in between my eyes is where this feeling lies.
echoed in my chest, a cave, a silent wreck.
a constructed, perfected and protected disaster.
and who will love the blonde girls?
the who’s who have been wooed and mistreated to the bone.
cold, frigid bone.
and who can love the wrong boys?
i’ve never loved a boy.
the lanky, tanky, talking, started towards feeling up your throat.
yet i can love a boy,
testimony to the word.
yet fear i hold, is not a man, the testimony shows.
now love me not for the shame.
love me not for the show.
love me not for that feeling that drifts when you know.
who am i?
i am not a bird.
yet bird, i feel,
and bird we must.