the adjustment
i am birthed
from the split second between
a bad decision & breathing—
a bright child
watering myself down
to an appropriate thickness.
(necessity after necessity is nested from my delicate cunt
like pulling
a gem
from cobwebs)
& when i ask a man
to lull me to sleep
with his tongue,
okay is the lie i tell myself.
i wade through their darkness
& mine
tasting sediment
blooming hunger…
mama i say, there is blood
on the nape of my neck
where i’ve stitched my mask on
half god / half gxrl