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My throat is torn
A mess
Of bloody fingerprints scattering
Claiming victory to my
Plundered spirit
It's funny.
why is it so easy to
Throw
Others under the bus
Why have we never been
Granted a
Seat at the table
When will my body
Function
In the way that my spirit wills it
Maybe it's better to
Hide
Behind veiled eyes and
Rosy tinted glasses
We are all cowards
( is this what belonging feels like ).
Can I speak up
Growl
Do something
Maybe we can collect
Whisper some
Gurgled
Sound from the rips placed on skin
( but silence is so forgiving )
I gnaw into my gumline
a row of perfectly
Cracked
Crescents; silent and stifled
Under previous interrogation
your smile leaves
Dents
In the creases of your forehead
An ever present
reminder of your
Humour
At my pain
We've gorged on
Fractured relationships
For far too long
Masks are stapled where our
Vision
Has been blurred
A pretty picture
Is better
Than no picture at all
( does that make us all liars ).
Words by Nikki Hamon
Artwork by Philippa Tuffin (@p.tuffin_art)