I am tired of talking about holes and whoever’s gonna fill them

I am tired of talking about holes and whoever’s gonna fill them
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i try to pluck my cô dì chú bác from / their endless dreams. their breaths, / smelled of newly-damned artilleries, /
their mouths, stained with tiết canh red-bright.
the problem with bodies is that they’re just too fragile. even something as bold as a ribcage can be crushed into tiny stars, bones magnified into gritty ash.
to be a daughter and make her a wish or
to be a daughter and make her a weapon