Poetic Attempt || Fourteen

i.
Who are you to tell me
that I cannot bleed?
When the thought of charred skeletons
appeals to me more than surrender
When my armor is sheathed
in tongues of wildfire
When I am passionate
and my heart belongs to revolution
I bleed red

ii.
Who are you to tell me
that I cannot bleed?
When I would let myself drown
so that others can breathe
When my pained tears
are waterfalls that replenish life
When I am nurturing
and my heart belongs to my countrymen
I bleed blue

iii.
Who are you to tell me
that I cannot bleed?
When my shoulders have carried the sun
in an attempt to light the way
When my hands bear calluses from
growing wheat in the ashes of old cultures
When I am hopeful
and my heart belongs to a dying nation
I bleed white

iv.
Who are you to tell me
that I cannot bleed?
When my blood is an elixir
of red and blue and white
coursing through exhausted veins
and flowing steadily into
the barren banks of my motherland
in an effort to save her
I bleed

Fourteen
(Written on 15 January 2017)

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Shealea

First of her name. Queen of millennials and the constantly caffeinated. Protector of books. Breaker of norms. Iskolar ng bayan.

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