They're pulling the light right out of me, threading a picture that is not mine. Hanging it on my wall, my wall, that can't be my wall since that is not my picture. Mother Mary keep me safe. Keep my light inside of me. A picture on every wall. Every wall filled. My light has been pulled out of me and fills the hall with memories. Memories that are supposed to be wrong. Memories put in small porcelain frames hung on all the walls everywhere. They're all the same. Please Jesus hear my prayer, I'm bleeding. My wound pours out onto the floor filling it with my rich red blood my blood that was full of light but that light ain't there anymore. No it's closed in the lockers of the kids at school, locked in with their dusty light that's on their walls that never looked like mine but now do. Now that they pulled it out of me and bled me on my floor. My light is stuffed in their backpacks caught in the zippers and dragging on the floor. They bring it home to their mothers to sew it into a pretty picture full of dusty light and hang it on the wall. They pour my blood out of their shoes that squeak when they walk. And it fills their floors too.


They took the light right out of me and I don't have any more.