The Knife
I feel their knife in my mouth,
As they carve out my tounge.
I feel all of the words I dare not say,
Stain my lips alongside the blood.
I look into their eyes and smile,
Knowing I could never truly hate them.
No matter how they silence me,
Or bruise me with my words.
Because my type of sickness has no boundaries.
They beat me, break me, and cut me,
But no.
I will always come back.
Like a sinner to a chapel,
I will come back with my palms up.
Asking for blessings,
But knowing I will get struck down, once again.
I am their's to break. I always have been.
Their blood runs in my very veins.
And no matter how many times I let it ooze out,
It's what makes me live.
I am indebted to them.
Forced to live in the shakes they forge,
Out of the hate they don't know reaches
My ears.
I am exactly what they hate.
What they fear.
I am what they fight against.
But I will never tell them.
I will always stay silent.
my tounge carved out.
I can't feel the pain.
I'm already in pain from their words.
But I stand there smiling,
In a pool of my own blood,
As they are ignorant, not knowing,
I am the thing they fear most.
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