my fingernails are dark from what is beneath
their edges dripping like claws, like
slaughter fresh from the battlefield, like
the kind of oil spill that stains the sea.
my nails are dark, and black, from
ink and my skin is paper so let me
overwrite myself like history overwrites
my people but give me a quill
sharpen my teeth into pen nibs
my bones i will burn until black and
from the ash mix an ink so dark
and so permanent
just let them try
to make me invisible
again.
their edges dripping like claws, like
slaughter fresh from the battlefield, like
the kind of oil spill that stains the sea.
my nails are dark, and black, from
ink and my skin is paper so let me
overwrite myself like history overwrites
my people but give me a quill
sharpen my teeth into pen nibs
my bones i will burn until black and
from the ash mix an ink so dark
and so permanent
just let them try
to make me invisible
again.
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aesythe
Jul 25, 2022
This has teeth, alright. There is no wishy-washy melancholy in your words, only an intense, gnashing ire -- and great determination. I may not know what your struggle is, but you've stirred up a bitter sense of injustice for me.