On the 'Shradh'

i cannot believe that those departed are crows.

my father'd be a majestic falcon

my mother a little sparrow

my sister would be a chirping magpie

he, a mischievous raven

you'd be a rather serious stork

and i'll be the proud peacock

who thinks all the alternatives matter.

Abuse

i could show you the wing tips under my eyes

and bruises of every shape and size

i could show you scars on my arms and feet

and puckered flesh from searing heat

i could show you the stripes on my back

and files that fill a sack

full of headlines that decree

what was done to me

the violence of my house that is plain to see

but i'll show you one

a love bite on my breast

and you'll realize

how heartless he truly is.