this is not a story of defeat,
resurrection or victory— only
a story of a thing that has
happened and is happening
and will happen again, some
time.

you have memories
and you will have hopes and
your hopes will have wings,
warm from the laundromat,
and scented of rain falling on
picket fences you never had,
but ran your fingers over—
they splintered in your skin.
your freckles spill over your
outermost layer

— pinpoint the
places in which the angels stuck
needles— prenatal acupuncture
for the pressures you would
face outside of the womb—


God knew He could create glory
through you, do you hear?

(by chaivee)