Daddy's dying tongue lies under my skin, forgotten.
The sweat on my back: the blood of a woman
Assaulted and assimilated into your house,
Crying out from the ground for justice.I stand here as my mother's child,
A poor, queer, disabled, trans person of colour,
Generations of silence live on in the screams I never let go.
We grieve our stolen names, identities lost in the reflection of unshed tears.
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YOU ARE READING
Scratches On My Gravestone
PoetryA collection of poems written by little ol' me, created to be discovered, but not remembered.