when i open my mouth,
i’m never able to form a set of words
around my tongue,
pluck out the letters from my teeth,
smoothen out the syllables of this borrowed language,
that can make
my closed heart
i have become accustomed to this world’s rejection.
i look for mirrors and pens
that allow me to be seen
because i’m not sure
if i’m even worthy
i’m not sure.
not sure if this old bridge that runs across my back
can hold up any longer.
this bridge of unpolished wood,
filled with nails and splintered pieces,
covered with a moss
you can’t find on this side of a broken, bleeding ocean
i’ve never seen.
what can be done,
when the entirety of your landscape,
a landscape filled with obsidian that has been
and raped from
there’s no more you left to take?
when you know an explosion is coming
and you don’t take shelter,
what does that make you?
when you know you can’t hold down
the fire you swallowed upon your birth any longer,
will the heat burn the dirt & melanin away?
when the waters start to brew
and you can no longer be soothed,
can you be blamed when the levees break?
when the cassava stewed in the palm oil
that soaked into your very pores molding you
no longer nourishes,
why aren’t you worried?
By Maya Finoh, Contributor
All Images via Google Images