under red roof

under red roof i feel safe
for i live with the woman who caresses me 
when i bawl and whose breasts i was held
close to after falling from the womb. who 
makes chai tea simmered in whispers of 
cardamom to bathe my dry throat. whose
voice seeps into my blood and pumps it with 
oxygen and scarlet love. 

under red roof i feel safe
for i live with the man who held my hand
underwater and kissed my broken flesh after 
falling off my bike onto dusty pavement. 
who sat by my side and watched broken 
consonants crackle off my toddler lips as i tried 
to make sense of the alphabet. who bought
me strawberry ice cream that my tongue
folded into the shape of resting pink
butterflies.

under red roof i feel safe
for i live with the girl who weaves my 
thick, black keratin through her thin fingers,
creating two braids constructed from
unconditional love and joy. and whose laugh
cools sunburnt skin and heals a fever like 
ibuprofen. and who pulls me into the winter 
air to dance with snow angels and the northern 
cardinals.

under red roof i feel safe
for i live with the orange kitty whose tongue 
sips at my tears when i cry and purrs when i 
drip kisses onto his forehead. whose claws give birth 
to chipped paint on my bedroom door, begging
to be let in. and the dog whose warm breaths lick 
at my toes and whose tail whips back and forth 
as i walk towards him. whose mahogany eyes look up to 
me, as if i’m the world, not just a mere human being. 

under red roof i feel safe
for i am protected from the whistles that 
run through the treetops and the angry tears 
of God. for i am protected from nasty language 
and syllables that fall off sharp tongues and 
cut epidermis. i am protected from society 
that feasts on the brains of young teenagers 
and molds them into the contours of its palms. 
i feel safe, for i can paint a self-portrait and it’s 
really me, and not just an illusion of the girl 
society wants me to be.