this poem is haunted

you sound haunted / you crawled

inside your own voice, but

the reverb made your skin 

too cold

 

wind is warmer / more quiet, feels 

like it’s traveling, but you’re just

a whistle vibrating through 

lazy lips 

 

so say it, sing it / like an arrow, 

you’re a crossbow, a guitar,

a weapon, anything made of hands,

a wound

 

perform / your resilience shucks

and jives, keeps your ego

from imploding, righteous 

heals

 

the first time / a ghost 

clapped for you, their fingers 

were too fast, no one alive

could have kept that pace