Laid claim where dust ran red

One morning…
at the tips of fever-bright somethings
declaration became movement,
ideals –
deception affected, effected
highways altering the footprints I bled for.
This is slip
slip
slip
slipping through my fingers
in wanted strands,
breathable fragments of self sediment
stuttering into the hands of others.

I know I know I know
I’m not a mirror,
can’t you see can’t you see can’t you see?
Is it so difficult to understand the me and mine
you keep trampling?
That walkway has my DNA, my eyes, my name, my finger prints,
those rivers you keep damming up and stepping over
are window panes you keep covering.
I am not a shadow.
I need the light.
Precious stones are not always white or yellow,
not heavy soaked or earthen born,
I’ve already staked claim
you cannot hunt here,
and lightening struck sand does not mean
I’ll cater to your reflection.