Steph Bruzon

I bring my song to you last,

/

I bring myself:

/

barefoot

and restless

with longer hair

and nothing to protest 

anymore

/

desiring you still, 

losing that war. 

/

I am the girl you fell in love with

expanded. 

/

with your name on my body

branded. 

/

and granted, you are

the same. 

/

I want to shake that fear

from your head,

/

wash your hair 

with abrasive hands,

in hopes that it will open you

in places you might never learn to close again. 

/

(I promise it’ll be good. 

some things are meant to be open wounds, 

so long as you are able to live with the blood.) 

/

I bring my song to you last,

/

I surrender. 

/

your love letters

come when I want them to,

when I write them for you

/

I’m a pretender. 

/

I render you mute with 

words to spare, 

/

I put beads into the braids

in my hair,

/

I weave you into my body. 

/

(don’t you want to live there?)

/

I bring my song to you 

/

It’s the last of what I have. 

/

I bring myself to you: 

/

barefoot 

and restless,

yearning

/

with no shame in my bones

with the bravery of an entire country 

going to war 

and a desire that no longer 

knows a home, 

/

making excuses

for why our love didn’t fit. 

/

but we never made love 

/

we never made love

/

we became it.