THE LANGUAGE OF US .
Our bodies are maps,
inked with scars and soft rivers,
each curve a sentence,
each breath a prayer.
Our eyes two lanterns in the dark, burning with secrets we dare not speak aloud
They hold storms, they hold suns,
they are oceans refusing to drown.
The arch on our backs is a bridge, bending beneath the weight of survival, yet rising again,
like crescent moons that never forget their pull toward the sky.
And our fingers oh,
they write histories on skin,
chasing memories across empty rooms, tracing love like fragile veins,
telling stories that lips were too afraid to tell.
Every part of us is a poem rhyme
stitched in bone,
rhythm carved in pulse,
a chorus of metaphors
singing, we are broken, we are whole,
we are endless.
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