Those words.
Those words
Spoken aloud
Like I'm property
not a person,
Like I'm theirs
not my own.
Those words
Spoken aloud
In a room full of strangers
In suits,
In a room whose
Marbled walls made
Those words
Echo echo echo echo echo
So I have to hear them
Again
And again,
Setting off tremors in
My body,
An earthquake
With a core
Dead
Center
In my chest.
Those words
Telling me I'm
too young
too meek
too weak
To have a voice
Of my own
To speak my mind
And declare with words of my own.
Those words
Pounding against my outsides,
Rippling through my insides
While a well-meaning hand
Pats my shoulder
And
Gives it a squeeze.
Those words
Spoken aloud
And followed by others,
Too.
Words tossed around like
Ingredients to a recipe
Or the concoction
Of a scientist
Long gone mad.
Unfit.
Discharged.
Incapable.
Minor.
And others, too,
That I just
Lost track of
'Cause
Those words
custody of the state
custody of the state
custody of the state
custody of the state
Dominated my thoughts.
And,
To be honest,
They still do.
YOU ARE READING
Razel Razel (and the Others at The Gates)
De TodoWelcome to The Gates, a home for orphaned and abandoned boys. Leading you on a rather unconventional tour --a tour that includes photographs, poetry, and revealing bits and pieces of trash that he has collected (and, yeah, sometimes stolen), is our...
