Ron at 11

Don't tell anybody we're not strong.
Strings and sinew, bones of masque
Unended sentences and mouthed words
Or the things we meant to have said -
Thought we said, all those years ago
Changelings changing, that's what we are
Buried bruises bandaged by a fresh punch and
It. Never. Was. Just. The. Words.

Still, there's chanting in the background
Our own personal movie trailers - we never
Tire of those, and the uneasiness that slithers
Under skin, under our breath, in our sleep
A baby step up the food chain, we can only BE
More than we were set out to be, or no? and
We'll never know what held their hands back
From completely finishing us off.

xoxo
lili