Information inconclusive,

Reality elusive.

Emotions promotive,

Physically and mentally vindictive.

Oral coercions,

Biblical confessions.

Carried the crosses of many like they were mine to bear.

Buried by the silence—don’t worry, I’m not even here.

Trumpets are calling; God must be near.

My death penalty in arrears.

Birth date?

Reset.

The entire life cycle is perfectly defined as doomsday.

The devil’s strongest link, although earthly seen as prey.

Life-altering quests presumed to lead me astray.

What if the assumptions were wrong?

What if gravity was never strong enough to confine me?

Would they call me a master of the dark arts,

Write me down in history as a myth,

Or—like the Salem witch trials—burn my entire existence?

But like biblical scriptures couldn’t cancel the womb,

My spirit is persistent.

I would have never crossed a line if one was never drawn.

They said I couldn’t possibly be a lover when I’ve never fought—

So they thought.

Although the feminine always knew there was never need for wars,

Like Hercules parted the lion with its soul,

I parted and broke jaws using my tongue.

“Mighty is the sword”—but is it?

When it couldn’t stab any further than my pen?

It wounds the flesh,

But can it penetrate the heart or the mind—

Without making it bleed?

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