TWERKING AS A RADICAL ACT OF HEALING

when your song plays, steal your body
back out the gut of that brute/nigga/beast/boy.

sweat the bile off, unlearn the word acid,
dance until the only thing you’re sure of is the ache

in your thighs & your name as a metaphor for steam.
bend your knees because you want to,

not for any god or dirty nails in your shoulder.
go down knowing there is still a sky

to rise towards. give your scars to the strobe lights,
let them wash you in lightning, wait for whatever

kind of salvation a basement brings. twerk
& ain’t that the best prayer?

tonight, you left his ghost at home, left a note
for him to pack his ghost-shit & leave

by the time the sun soars in your honor. honey, you’re here
& that’s it’s own psalm. don’t let nobody look at you

& not know they looking at the risen. this how you write
free all over your bones & for the first time

you know free doesn’t mean how his hands mistook you
for somebody’s water, but how you were made to be

like wind, like a hawk, like a doe mid leap,
like a storm, like a child, like a song.