untitled sonnet 12.16

Pitying health professionals haunt me
still, remembering the moments my tears
made my body, my mind so slippery
to their authority, hurry, their fear

they wouldn’t have an answer, my wounds gaped
and gangrene grew from thinking others know
like the teachers, the coworkers who taped
an ex on my chest before I could sew

myself together with a star, six points
of sunlight swirling up and swirling down
marigold streams from above, violet anoints
my forehead, from below, a deep green-brown

of knowing that I will burn regardless
of their scent, I will burn into softness.

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