pure

that word again.
the one that's haunted me since
little hands barren of any
horrid
when they were soft
and potential steeped.

that word boxed how to wonder
and told face how to be mirrored
and settled clothes on frame
and kept laces tied.
it was my map & bible & sun.

but then those soft hands met
seared
and that brain met tree-snake
and that face heard evil
and the clothes became misshaped
and laces began trip.

that's when the dark took hold
& brain became enemy, blooming with hate lures
& face shamed mirror for fear of storm
& clothes didn't hide what i'd hoped
& knees stayed locked to ground...
it seemed safer to drown than plunge surface.

but then he said it.
"pure"
& i think he was looking at me.
& he might have meant it.