Polaroids Lost in Time

Contrasting Colors

Shades of black and blue contrast against my skin.

My silence is growing louder; you can almost hear the pin.

My hands are crippled, I can barely stand.

Glances from different angles but no one lends a hand.

I've had words thrown at me, along with fists and books.

Then people ask me why I look the way I look.

They criticize my scars and rub salt into my wounds.

Piece by piece, little by little, I am consumed.