“Off my back/Washed clean by the reality of being heard & listened to.”
a poem by Angel Brynner
“My crow heart beats on the edge of seventeen, the cure before fashion screams through my veins with dark joy that surmounts pain. Proof of unspoken inner lives well up in ears hidden in plain sight only to burst forth, freed by the only sixteen syllables I technically give a fuck about. The one who gets the reality of my God-given wings beyond words, between notes and sounds is the one who is truly comforted by them.
Peace runs down like water off my back, valleys of tears turned to blessings that words can’t wipe away the sonic imprint of.”