Yesterday, I was flesh, and I was blood,
And I was a heart beating
Beneath the fragile cage of bone
That somehow protects my heart
From everything but the world.
Today I am a number, you made me
The unfortunate upper half of a fraction
That no one wants to believe
Yesterday I was
Heads shaking, so sorry, so sure
That they will never be there
Among the dirty minority
I was flesh
Pressed against tiles that smell
Of piss and of smoke and stick to my skin
Turning purple beneath your grasp there is
I was blood
Bruising in patterns like paintings
That follow the lines of hands that wander
Like conquerors of a strange new land
You took my heart
That was ever theirs to explore
And it’s not beating.
And it’s not beating.
Tomorrow, I will be flesh, and I will be blood,
But there will be a stranger trapped inside
That fragile cage of bone
That somehow protects my heart
From everything but the world.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comments:
Circular! :)
I like this. You have a way with darker poetry. You really approach it and display it in a way I can't and I admire that. This piece is very gripping though perhaps a little vague. The wording is excellent, and the phrasing is smooth. It's a good read. I just think I want to know a little more about what/who caused the author to feel this way.
Post a Comment