beauty in my bones


There is beauty buried in my bones. 

Many times, my flesh struck with stones 

     and they held. 

Welded together in this honeycomb texture. 
The hive of me alive in me 
and maybe even a little hungry. 
Buzzing bitch please. 

Kiss me. 
I'm the monster you made. 

The one you constantly crave and couldn’t keep away. 

A hold and chase. Neither can decide  
and we both have too much pride.  

There is beauty beneath my bones.

They hold the stories untold; 

The bones know. 
The body remembers. 

But when it’s  
decayed and  

the embers remain; the pain holds.  


Remnants of what was done  
when flesh and bone were one.  

Flesh fades fast and holds none of that. 
Bones break and crack but the shards remain. 

There is beauty in my bones.
Like stones buried in the river, 
stories of survival live within her.  

Swims in the current of my space  
knowing these things cannot escape. 

Flows with the pace and drifts softly away. 

[Kristina Rose Garcia 2020]

Published by misskris726

Bronx poet, artist and educator.

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