Sneakers and the touch of skin in a heartfelt hug or handshake. So tightly-knit the thread or yarn could never be unraveled unless it was deliberately cut or set on fire. The bonds are mostly weatherproof. Wind just barely cuts through. A quilt of sisterhood, brotherhood, siblinghood. Feel how feet hug the earth one step after another patrolling a piece of land that is ours, owned by mind to renegades. Any other rules are cancelled out and fall short if they aren’t our own. We walk close to share body heat because no one should go cold in winter. No sibling of mine. Pride, warm beating hearts. Incredulous thought at hypothetical betrayal. Who would do that when we don’t have fathers, when we don’t have mothers? The closeness never achieved with family we achieve everyday now. Live and die by it. Isn’t that what family is? If there was no death, no possibility of it, how would anyone take this seriously? The promise of emotional stability is a steady game, even if it lends itself to emotional irrationality. I see a crowd of people I call family, that call me theirs. Hear their unique voices in my head so I may remember all their names. Taste the promise of tomorrow in this honeymoon honeyed head. Where everything is pure and nothing can go wrong. But after death all the blood drains from my face and I am shallow. I fall to my knees on cold grey winter pavement and place my hands on pre-crime scene street. Where the cement has taken payment in blood for our ownership. I mourn the loss. And feel the wetness of the flood spilt, but it does not transfer to my own hands.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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