when the wave is over
i am always swelling
with anger or with pulses
of sadness. i wash myself
clean of the guilt by
scrubbing at the surface
of my skin but i can
never rid you from
my flesh, you are rooted
in my bone. my blood
sobs into my veins and
i am tainted with shame.

the third wave was the
most intense, the most
dehumanizing
i let you into my body
into my blood
and into my bones
i cannot cry to my mother
because you have
taken my youth
i cannot love myself
because you have taken
the formation of my being,
the structure and foundation
of my body. i am skin.

when my pulse becomes
a poem, will you bury me
into the ground or
will you let me rot?
will you allow me to decay
beneath the surface
or under the sun?