At 25

I was assigned

three mountains:

One the guilt

Two and three the weights

That grew on my chest

Despite their

meaninglessness

Removed by a knife

6 years later

By a Dr,

And wisdom to know

the difference

Between what needs

to be removed

And what needs to stay.

Surgery

Removed a bit more:

A little give a sh*t

And anxiety’s weightlessness,

Gravity a thing of the past

At bouncing a chest

Filled with muscle

Instead of mammary glands.

Removing the third mountain

Of guilt has been difficult

to overcome;

the sound of my own drum

Often causes terror in minds

Not built on wisdom.

Instead, hate is their foundation

Hammering nails

into feet and hands

With a cross to bear.

Through the years

I’ve learned how to

Alchemize

the metal of hurt

Into a phoenix

That’s set the last

mountain on fire;

from the Ash’s

I will continue to rise

Despite any negative

person or design

that surrounds my life,

Even my own mind.