Baptism in the Mountains

     
My severed head,
Processing all that is a delicate touch from changing,
Strung out lightning bugs pinging on the bleached walls of my bare skull.

slick droplets slather my skin
Violent in their reproach
but still, my body dances.
Betrothed to me by me,
A lover once belted a lowly tune
Carrying notes of uncertainty.

Bloated and bathing in blue light
Showering in hollow rays
Mist in my eyes
A hand over my mouth
Forced to drop my husk and surrender.

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Yeama is a 20-something year old native New Yorker. She is currently a contributing writer for perediza magazine. This is a curated selection of her writings; diary entries, school assignments, and creative musings.

Committed to a lifetime of learning, humanitarian work and world exploration, her work culminates experience from a few steps of all walks of life.