listen: this is where i want to be born
kicking and drowning face-down
in a pool of cosmos,
in a body woven by sparrows from sticks
and straw. i want to live
with birdsongs fluttering
in my chest. i want to pray
to a bone jutting through the sky, in a land
where leaves unfurl to teach me
their silver dew
of song.
listen: i was born in a land that is not my own,
baptized in oil and taught to drink
gold. born already buried in light
that i cannot scrub from my skin.
here, the sky bleeds, veins unhinged
by careless fingers. they shave
the receding hairline
of the stars.
i run from this country
of soggy technicolor in breakfast bowls,
run from its children drinking coins through juice boxes
and calling themselves americans,
run from its god of symmetry, its jesus
of the atom. i run from a country
that has been braided into my flesh.
i run from myself. the american dream
swallows my nights.
listen: this is where i want to die,
miles away from sam and his golden hands. this
is where i want to die, sky
staining my bare feet, planets
peeling under my nails.
this is my hunger:
to dive through the sky,
to dissolve into it. this
is how i want to be born.
kicking and drowning face-down
in a pool of cosmos,
in a body woven by sparrows from sticks
and straw. i want to live
with birdsongs fluttering
in my chest. i want to pray
to a bone jutting through the sky, in a land
where leaves unfurl to teach me
their silver dew
of song.
listen: i was born in a land that is not my own,
baptized in oil and taught to drink
gold. born already buried in light
that i cannot scrub from my skin.
here, the sky bleeds, veins unhinged
by careless fingers. they shave
the receding hairline
of the stars.
i run from this country
of soggy technicolor in breakfast bowls,
run from its children drinking coins through juice boxes
and calling themselves americans,
run from its god of symmetry, its jesus
of the atom. i run from a country
that has been braided into my flesh.
i run from myself. the american dream
swallows my nights.
listen: this is where i want to die,
miles away from sam and his golden hands. this
is where i want to die, sky
staining my bare feet, planets
peeling under my nails.
this is my hunger:
to dive through the sky,
to dissolve into it. this
is how i want to be born.
![Picture](/uploads/5/6/3/4/56344703/9905692.jpg?188)
Daniel Blokh is a 14-year-old creative writer living in Birmingham, Alabama. He wants Tethys to give him back his glasses.