Prena Poetry

but living was really an art, wasn’t it?
if i had only told you earlier
i too have a semicolon inked
on my golden wrist

mother doesn’t know what it means
i just tell her i am a survivor
and will always make a warrior
out of the woman in my chest

there is no shame to be felt
for the sufferings scripted
on the length of our spine

and, oh, sweet child of misery
if living was really an art
survival is a masterpiece