My heart beats faster as she shows me her arms,

‘STUPID’ scratched on her wrist,

She told me her mom did this.

It was like my heart bursted from my chest

Unsure if I wanted to learn the rest,

Of the story.

They don’t believe her.

A branded black girl

Begging for mercy

Asking and pleading to be heard.

But she still loves her mommy.

She still stays under the comfort of the woman.

The woman who scratched the skin off her with a knife to carve

‘STUPID’

On the child that came out of her own vagina.

Her own body,

The child she carried for nine months.

The child that she took care of for fourteen years.

She still lives with her.

I bet that when she strings the ukulele ,

And sings “Baby”

She thinks of her mommy.

of the times she was probably held as a child and called pretty.

the imaginary hugs and kisses what she misses oh so clearly.

She cries.

She lets herself go,

hugs me and I feel a portion of her pain.

I can’t even begin to explain.

The scars on her wrist do no only come from her mom but her.

She cuts herself,

She wants to kill herself

She can’t deal with the struggles of this world.

She’s not built thick like me.

She’s bony.

She brown.

She. She. She.

Her name is to insane to reveal

And secrets need to be concealed

So she’s a variable.

We’ll call her ‘Y’.

Y.

WHY did she have to be the one to get hurt so profoundly?

WHY did STUPID have to be a six letter word carved into her skin?

She’s not a tree!

WHY?

WHY does she have to be so open to infliction?

She’s a letter

and this stamp is ugly.

It bleeds blood and dries darkly.

This stamp is sticky,

it gets peeled off but it still leaves debris.

I will be the postman to feel this stamp of and put another one.

Her hospital bill was $250 dollars.

She stayed a week.

She was weak.

Her arms are so skinny that I bet some love would fatten them up.

I bet that kisses won’t fill up the void for the things that her mom misses.

But I will,

I will be her Superman.

I will her Odysseus

Her Beowulf.

Her shining star.

I will be the x next to y.

I will x out the six-letter words not only on her hands but on her soul.

To bring her spirit to the other side of the world where pain is only a faded memory.

And beauty is the effervescence that runs through OUR veins.

allowing us to sleep at night.

Where six letter words uplift spirits.

And skin stays untouched from imperfectness.

I will stamp another six letter word on her heart.

Pretty.

Lovely.

Beauty.

I will be that ‘x’ that marks the spot.