What it feels like being stalked

Bank Left

You took out the best parts, the
pieces of my voice. You ripped
me up, wrecked my prose, stole
my sound.

You on the park bench. You
under the frozen sky.

You'll find me on the docks with
the wind in my hair. You'll find me
in free samples at Sam's Club.

You'll find me hiding in my closet
hair wet with tears. You'll find me.

Rip my heart. Rip my heart. Rip
my heart. Reach right through the
heart cage.

You'll find me stealing heels off a
witch and switching the ignition of
her broom.

I was born free of the skins you
drape on me, the chimney chains
of rooftop slaves.

I was reborn under the black
moon when I first knew I would
escape.

Fly free little bird you say but you
are a hawk with no jesses and
you have plucked my feathers.

This broom is a dream if it means
I survive off more than toothpicks
and paper cups

squares of meat and dry napkins

sauces with no place to run
except to inch along cement face
first wishing for a crack

I'd slip through any exit if it meant
I'd stay airborne with no engines
or club cards

no you banking left in my wake.