Sorcery : Nikita Gill

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Everyday, I magic myself alive again

from the near death experience of trauma.


I swallow my heart back from

the lump it has become my throat.


I taste my own memories

without the flavour of blood but as poetry.


I learn how to whisper my name

without it sounding like a curse.


I murmer spells to the parts of me

others have found too dangerous to love.


And after this morning ritual

I finally smile at the woman in the mirror.


Tell me again

how healing is not a magical thing.


Tell me again,

how I am not made of sorcery.


Nikita Gill

(from the collection : Wild Embers : Poems of Rebellion Fire and Beauty)

3 thoughts on “Sorcery : Nikita Gill

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