Exeunt

I'm talking to you now from my life bed 

filled with work in my head post-surgical 

staples twenty-two in a line a centipede

confirming the fact of falling and now

after months my revived self kisses the land 

of handsome dirt points I welcome myself back 

to limber me bereft of the constant shroud of fear 

I have carved the bully out for good 

reframe the hood with better selvedge 

may it last this not feeling small and pressed 

to speak my rage I now face straight up and gaze

into the eyes of the oppressor I shuck away 

for the love of God knowing this hovering presence 

the wrong flavor was decidedly no savior