Skin and Blood - Poem 8
Differences are born in skin, blood, pride, and envy
Each scratch upon the artist’s page
Each flaw etched in black
Each scream plotted in every line
Anyone is allowed to create
So why must we create such ugly things?
Torn and stitched
Flayed and taped
Nothing made whole or complete
But recycled from garbage
Made to look human
Drawn with non-dominant hands
Messy collections of flesh and hatred
Am I truly nothing more than how others have made me?
Finding recycled parts of ourselves in others
Reminded of how beautiful we could have been
How gorgeous the world could have built us
Yet, rotting away in a shell of borrowed sins
Smiles plastered on like paper-mache
Like a doll modeled to fit aesthetics
Stuck high on a dusty shelf,
I sit with limbs stiff and empty
Waiting for the day my creator gifts me my own share
Of skin and blood
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