The merlot on my tongue
won’t allow me to speak.
I stain my pillow with attached prayers of something
betwixt the Ghana of my name.
I walk with a cane looped to my belt to beat a fall
design distance from cerebral lessons
I wear tight shoes to ensure carefully calculated steps
and disavow chances and dances with love.
crash it down toilets
with eggs to symbolically hinder birth
I sit armored with mindful intentions
of nurturing tomorrows virginal courage.
from the book, “Pocket Honey, Wind & Hips” by nikki skies