half-moon at my shoulders bright light shining to my eyes
starry night up and up, blind to blood bind to breast
frowns with his charcoal studded lids
lashes sweep away bristles coat with ash
a dust wove nest;
single feather to my hands
fibre over fire yet
flame light again
reborn at the sky
at the sea to the sand
grainy thistles, a jagged pearl
come apart, come away
only bumps on a gray lit canvas
wash over with sediment
sieve to air
tear limb from limb
thorn to heart
curtains drawn &
mask to floor
Christina P is 14 years old and a freshman at Stuyvesant High School in New York City. She loves the art of spoken word and song throughout a variety of cultures, and draws inspiration from them in her writing. She also has a fondness for the violin and crime novels.