Behind the Perfect Imperfections

Behind the walls, 

behind the fences. 

Behind the perfect, 

the imperfections. 

Swallow my pride, 

I am not 

constantly terrified, 

fearing for my own life. 

I live amongst jewels 

compared to others' scraps. 

The difference is so big,

but it’s not just a fact, 

it’s a hunger. 

It’s a darkness that lingers, 

occasionally brushing us 

with its sticky fingers, 

so that we smell 

the sadness that’s slowly 

slipping through our silence. 

We’re hiding what’s human. 

We’re caving in this crisis. 

These waves are just 

rising higher, 

soon some of us  

won’t be able to jump the wire. 

We’re dying in this heat, 

it’s now a raging fire.