Many lack exposure

to ideas outside their doctrine.

They never examined the unquestioned.

Operating with blindfolds

leads to limited vision.

My former body

before tumor robbed me

was a welcome comfort

like Kleenex when you’re sobbing.

Few know my name,

referring to me as

the green wiggly thing on a string,

floating on a strand of silk

like your neighborhood Spider-Man.

I swear I stood

ten scarred scarlet toes down

to the ground,

allowed the cries of my Ancestors to

touch my soles through copper clay,

Patty cake, patty cake,

Doctor Man,

bake me a butt as

fast as you can!

It hurts so much to lose them, too,

more than scraping my knee

down to the white meat,

more than bites from an angry bumblebee,

more than being ghosted by some fool

who don’t even deserve me—

Me and the Easter Bunny

got beef.

Anger rises whenever I see

his smiling buck teeth.

What is he smiling about?

Commercialism?

Capitalism?

Christ being risen?

Ain’t no more spring in the DMV.

ICE chillin on 295 like pollen,

pullin over white trucks—

si hablas español,

don’t test your luck.

I remind my ego that

I am not the answer,

but merely a mirror,

reflecting back the delicious fruit

of the future.

I swung high,

daring my tiny feet to touch the sky,

relishing in friendship that existed

before boys and bidis.

Mad at reflections
of parts no one protected.
To hide them, I’d eat—
pack on pounds to feel softness
as my heart hardened.