La Dispute

Don't call this an art project
This is science, this is progress
And don't pretend these are heartfelt words, we are
Children dressed as surgeons but disturbed by the sight of our scars
And now we carry scalpels to trace the scarring, resting somewhere
On the line between my house, your heart and into your home
Where you lay sleeping like a ceiling fan in winter
Gently turning as the wind reaches its fingers through the window
Just to hold you, like I held you
Pressed like a rose between my fingers or like stones
I keep in pockets meant to weigh me underwater
These scars will fade away but never disappear, my dear
We'll raise our fists like lightning to rods to god and
If he strikes us down
Then he strikes us down
But first, let him hear us speak:
We are like the legacy of thunderstorms we watched and swore in doorways
"we will never be the same again."