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The Moon Isn't Shining

On my palms,

Already laid out,

My initials are printed,

M. J. B.

They look hand written

You would never capture my essence like you wanted

Is that how you knew?

On the Sonogram, did you notice me pressing my hands against your womb?

Is that when the God in me gave me a better chance to live?

Did you know that I was going to be special,



Do you like Anne Sexton,

Believe that God could be a deep voice only heard by the deaf?

Is that why I'm hard of hearing?

Mommy, It's been 7 thousand 6 hundred 91 days 20 hours and 21, 22, 23 minutes

Since you last saw me

Can you tell me if was I born as a child of God,

My dad said I used to fit in his palms

Can you tell me why I have an obsession with hands



I keep having this dream

After taking my first breath

With five tiny fingers I reached up and touched your left cheek

I felt the texture of your skin in the grooves of mine

These markings,

Are they the reason you choose to give me away?

Did you believe they were a gift?

Or was I a bas****, branded,

Deemed unworthy of your love?

My hands an extension of the man, who

Left us,



Mommy, our edges match,

Lost after completing our puzzle

Only once, then

Having it torn apart,

You are the piece I am missing

And, I know I am yours.

In my dream, you were glowing when you held me.

As if I were a beam of sunlight



Sometimes, I think you must be a piece of the moon.

Whenever I cry, the sky pours out it's guts.

There are days that I feel you moving away from me;

My eyes water,

Like rivers overflowing dams;

The sky darkens and God's tears touch the earth often.

Pulling me in and out of my life like waters upon shores of my destiny.

I don't want ripples in our relationship.

Looking into your face, seeing my reflection would already be a challenge.



When I get my tattoo of

A puzzle piece,

That will only be me trying

To put the vision of you back into my skin

I want the needle to pierce my flesh so deep that when the ink is stained on me

It is stained on you

Surfacing through your organs

Maybe you would feel the gut wrenching pain I've felt for years not knowing where I came from

I'd singe outlines of a million puzzle pieces onto my body

Color them black and leave a crescent for you to fit into

Are you ever going to find me?





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