Four Parts

1. I am what happens during a polar vortex in hell.

A thousand raw hymns waiting

to be warmed.

A thousand icy prayers

waiting to be thawed.

 

Pride doesn’t live

here anymore.

It died

with motivation and strength,

 

buried in the grave

next to all the chill bones

I had before I grew up.

 

I am slowly trying to dig

up frosted cartilage.

 

Take back chill

encased in my frigid carcass.

 

Reattach freezing limbs

that fell

during the fallout.

 

2. I am where old soul meets new school.

Roguish and rare

like rattlesnakes with chilled venom.

 

Brutality oozing off my tongue

like honey that stings

as it sweetens.

 

That smooths as it soothes

and sticks to the icy layers slowly melting.

 

3. I have been turned into black twisted cables

hung between telephone poles.

I cannot get strung any higher.

 

Ice has a new meaning

when it is hanging off my wires,

holding me down.

 

Ice is what keeps me

swinging.

 

4. I am an angel with wings

ripped and broken

from street fights in junk

yards where anything goes.

 

This was not meant for me.

I have never been

fighting without rules,

sucker punching clenched jaws-

that breaks me.

 

I dropped my halo

in the scorched brimstone

miles away from home.

 

If only I could remember

where home was.

This poem is about: 
Me

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