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 

dismembered 

the embers remain; the pain holds. 

Fossils. 

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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