tells me that men are brutes
on islands we wrap sex in sandy towels hoping our tans are beautiful
Prisoners are beautiful.
Repeat words of guilt and learn
what a conscience means without metal bars
metal bars we so desperately hold,
my skin hurts
when it’s too much, my blood
spills metallic ink
Skin forgets how to forgive
and I am stung
revisit the beaches
wait for tomorrow’s false sunrise
rub these bites from the mosquito that is four hundred and twenty five miles away and my
will teach me that I am human again.