My Poetry

Matter.

HOW DO YOU MATTER?

to a country that sees your skin as a weapon.

your sibling.

your father.

your mother.

your close friend.

slain.

 

it’s a wound you carry like bites on your ankle.

covered with socks and silence and neglect.

 

how many souls have they misdiagnosed? misunderstood?

punished?

 

they know. but doing something about it is something else.

 

and is it worth it?

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