torturing the weak

at that time the sky was red

same

as the emotions of others;

they anger directed at me

in the hour of the beast

in the full moon

meticulously sharpening their claws

to scratch my humble body with it

leaving invisible purple welts on my soul –

marks to never forget

of that foreign origin;

words of such great importance

hurting my insides

thoughts forbidden, uttered, but disregarded;

what is the role of the writer?

surely not to sit in silence

chewing on every subject

but to write and be heard

I don’t think I ever have

such a pleasure in portraying

what others thought it would be

the death of my body and soul;

you could only make me stronger

I rise like a concealed healer

of myself

about whom you will never know

constricted in your own class

or rather its lack;

I wish to see you now

from afar

when you laugh

on the other side of your face;

it’s dangerous to stay

close to the beasts after dark

I seem to have forgotten this truth sold to me as a child

*

November – December 2022

***

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