It’ll take a lot more than sticks and stones
and marrow-hollowed bones.
It’ll take a lot more than whispers and charades
and rose-tinted princess parades.
It’ll take a lot more than matchsticks and gasoline
and brains shrink-wrapped in cellophane.
It’ll take a lot more than paper straws and a misplaced Plath,
and air-conditioned fits of rehearsed wrath.
It’ll take a lot more than black lipstick and kohl-eyed sighs,
and rebellion stitched into readymade ties.
It’ll take a lot more than revolutions sold as grocery,
and trauma repackaged as ancestral sorcery.
It’ll take a lot more than pastel scratches and iced teas,
and flightless birds and headless bees.
It’ll take a lot more than borrowed rage
sold in café lights,
and fashionable bruises mistaken for fights.
It’ll take a lot more than all of those and a frown,
to drown a thing that survived learning how to drown.
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