Static in the Skin
A poem about glitch, misrecognition, and the noise beneath the surface
They glitched us and took away the behaviour, replacing it with colour distortion that frames us against the odds. This poem moves through static, misrecognition, and the noise that rises when identity beats behaviour.
Screens high and low
I scream.
They do not hear sound, only gerrrk static of the self‑same.
Bzzzt. Blackout.
They see a face they call dark.
Hissss
Target taught.
Bzzzt. Over.
Wounded, but who from.
Turn back.
Dreads and hoods.
A glitch, a dip in the step.
We move slow. I moved too fast.
You saw a blur.
Grrrkk
And then
Storm we became.
Land we drowned.
They
like pixels tearing.
Catch.
Zzzk.
Zzap.
Throw the wolves in
under the poverty line,
with trauma currency,
with the cubs.
Elevate other
while you pull us open,
rename the crime as we.
Won’t rank us human.
Won’t name us fatigued
unless we wear what you sell us.
Sheep’s without dogs.
Buy brands.
Jailed.
Clnk
I cannot breathe.
I cannot breathe.
“Ugly monkey,” they say.
I cannot afford to speak.
I growl and roar.
Expose us.
Snk
Cheapen.
Expose none
Crkk
Until we are out of time.
You see the colour of my skin as
gltch gltch gltch.
Not why we growl.
When I snarl gltch
you splat.
Caxh.
Crkkle.
Caxh.
Shhshh
Shhshh
Who
Shhshhhhhh
Static rising.
Harm them, complete.
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About the Creator
Caitlin Charlton
Writer first. Close reader and self‑taught critic shaping eloquence.
A survivor reclaiming her territory.
I write dark fiction and poetry through symbol, shadow, and fracture.
Always sharpening the craft. ✏️🔥👠
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