So when they ask you why you forgot the faces of your forefathers,
remind them that they were never fathers in the first place.
Remind them that your house chased you out of your own home,
foaming at the mouth with rage,
A pitchfork in each hand.
They held a small funeral for you as they ran you out of your own shadow.
Tell them that there is no such thing as a safe haven.
The truth is hell is frozen and heaven is getting warmer by the minute
And nothing ever grew in the desert.
YOU ARE READING
Purple blush
Poesía''Everything you did to me, I remember. Mama, I made it out of your home alive, raised by the voices in my head. '' -Warsan Shire, Extreme girlhood
