I guess I could speak today.
I could say how angry I am.
I could let out the toxins.
But I find myself mute
At the foot of your bed
In between sheets I found others laying there instead
And its not that I'm angry that you made me a lie
Its that she came, and forced my goodbye.
And my beauty dispersed to awkwardness,
to nothingness,
to ethnic exotics
to be sold like a parrot,
like a lion,
like a statue.
Only to prove what?
That I am still the same.
Hair of fury, eyes of envy, skin of me.
-Noemi E. Garcia R.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
No comments:
Post a Comment