So, you have a face like Picasso's Guernica,
all chaos and white noise.
You have tiny battles
hanging onto your eyelashes,
you are dripping in crimson mud.
Your mouth is an avalanche,
but please do not censor yourself.
Some may stare,
their awe may be in silence,
but honey, you keep on yelling
loud enough for all of us.
Not everybody will welcome the
soot stuck underneath your cheekbones,
but if for a second you try to
disguise the tragedy that scatters
across your face like shrapnel,
open those clear eyes a little wider,
rip open your chest and say,
“war is not supposed to be
beautiful,
it is supposed to resolve.”