I, I carry inside me my family’s history
marching forward in misery,
bearing the weight of their suffering.
Drawn by the pull of their sins
that I wear as a covering
made of blood-tipped raven’s wings
spiraling faster to find the ache
of a restless heart and staled dreams.
Maybe it’s not the stars that align
but the brokenness inside you and I that ticks in time.
The spark in another’s eyes has a sweetness to fight back
the bitter taste of reality,
but next to you, I’m too recklessly close —
I’m not their living history.
I’m just a girl trying to chase away the shadows
from her head, trying to breathe in the free air.
Tell me I can shed these black wings
and finally release all that’s hidden here.
Tell me there’s a way to understand this stirring.