Gabriella Alziari



when the frail heart submits itself like a bloody flag,

throwing up its white wings of peace,

of surrender.


I wouldn’t wish for that kind of sadness,

but there is stoicism in rawness,

in not pretending to be brave.


There is courage in feeling shards of pain like bullets

ripping through a silken heart

as they find their meaty crevice.


Rawness is a special kind of intoxication.

Like cracking open a wounded egg to expose its hidden yolk,

wearing one’s sadness like a badge evokes

a certain type of poisoning.


Rawness calls for victory.

It hangs like a shadow sewn onto one’s clothes.

Heavy as a stone, slipping into water,

at once electrified and homely,

a familiar drowning.


I am sorry that I didn’t see your rawness

until it was too late.

For all you have suffered, I now carry a piece of it with me.

you are a part of my rawness, and so

you are a part of my victory.