I decided to stand on the streets and
juggle with the knives stabbed in my
back hoping someone will throw me a
dime or stand there long enough to
hear how I’ve earned my scars and how
much blood I’ve lost pulling these blades out.
I made my stitches and they are rough
just like my tongue from all the curses
said at the wind because I wasn’t strong enough
to tell them to people’s faces.
And I wasn’t supposed to tell them.
I was supposed to take the knives they stabbed
in my back and throw them right back.