I bleed words
they don’t understand,
craft stories with my tail,
epics with the pillows
I stomped the ground with
so much even the grass
gave up on me.

How can this belt
around my neck
be invisible to them
but carry the weight
of lifetimes to me.

I hung my heart on the line
hoping the colours
they carry underneath their skin
see mine drying up
in the very air that I breathe.

The only thing I have left.

–Poem by Natasha Moskaljov