when the sky melts blueblack with midnight i
learn that crescent girls wax from everywhere:

we nip the petals off our skin and
twist the wounds between our fingers
like stardust. like ashes. like love. we know
how to let things go. we sleep folded over
ourselves, curled up with lightning. wrap two-in-
the-morning around our shoulders hours later
like chrysalides. emerge from the
daybreak as moths. we take our lidlines
and make them the slashes in
our poems. and it hurts    but i

am proud to be a crescent girl, made
of splinters and shrapnel. finding beauty
in this tenderness. bleeding
with breathless light. sharp
and shard-hearted. a mess
of a thing
called
thunder.