Post the Eighty-Fifth or Whispers

I hear

Her whisper

Beating

In my chest

I exist

I exist

I exist

Holding two halves

Of a Broken cup

Trying not to

Cry

–

I hear

Her roar

Tearing

Through my veins

Avenge me

Avenge me

Avenge me

With your sword

Of black lace and sharp mind

Colored brown

With dried gore

–

I realized

That life is

More than just

A series of

defeats

But dead women

Do not feel

Rage

Post the Eighty-Forth or For Cherríe

I am not

Your daughter

The apple that slipped

Through your brown

calloused mouth

Was never meant

For me

–

But I see

You

Within me

Our vision clouded

By the heartache

De nuestra Madre

Gritando

“¿Por que?

¿Por que?

¿Por que?”

Why did they

Take

my Daughters?

–

Nací

With a body

That betrayed me

Mi india

&

My gender

@ odds

There is no factory setting

But they told me

I was built

Wrong

–

And so

Do you

Pero

Yo sí sé

Que somos

Hermanas

Because who else

Could see

Inside

My queer brown (trans) woman

Heart?