don't let the bastards grind you down.
the ink under my skin will always be here
resting
waiting
silently reminding me that i can never never give up.
the needle went in
past my epidermis
straight to my dermis
and to a part of my body
that will never rub off.
defeat is only ever in my head.
so i will not claim it.
when i think of that day
yesterday
i will not think of how they slapped us down
and took their chisels to our hearts
and tried to separate our
bodies from our souls.
i will think of holding one another.
and dancing when they watched us
with their hawk eyes
and their walk-by shooting glances.
and standing outside the steeple doors
with candles glowing in plastic cups
singing hymn choruses we knew by heart.
and snuggling close to keep warm
when the night air was crisp.
we don't need their permission to love.
and they don't know
that my skin is the hardest stone in this city.
their backs will break
from grinding away at me
before i ever
ever
change my shape.
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