This Right

to self determination It jingles.
Like Christmas bells, A holiday, celebration, Made for

Is worth the applause
Of a pronoun pin against My bound breast, Gleaming
Stares and smiles,
Is now

The wooden boy,
Floating aluminum boat,
On the river of my steps
Won’t drown in denim
Sunburned and peeling
Wood chips from flesh,
He molts
The leaves,
Like winter, wind
Has done to the hair on his head,

He rustles a bit softer now. Yet this battle cry,

Still guides boats home, By moonlight tides,
To carve body
from slivers,

Like rock, to tumble, Me smooth, building home
From the fractures Of concrete bone –

This life –
Is born,
Of chipped wood,
And fissured stone,
For what is a growth but Without a snap
Of our seams?

We must break,
Afterall destruction
is creation,
Birthed from the womb,
Of a blistered kiln,
Built, in fire,
To melt and mold,
And finally, hold ourselves The way grass does to dew With a goodbye,

that the fall, Will feed it too.

Reagan Paul

Reagan Paul

a poet and performer, Ray enjoys sunsets, patterned overalls, and trans liberation

instagram: @kniffok

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