The color of the morning
seemed the same dull grey.
The air I breathed in
felt the same, sour and stale.
But as I yawned aloud like I do,
no sound escaped my gaping mouth.
I looked down to count my scars
as I do every morning,
for the past
is where I always start.
But the scars, the skin,
the whole of my body
seemed to be made of glass
amalgamating with the putrid air.
I screamed, I yelled, I cried
ravaging my invisible throat
with a hope based on despair
but nary a sound escaped.
Heed me, sister please
help me see my flesh with your eyes.
Brother, listen to my wails
lend me your ears to hear myself.
But none of them turned,
None of them even twitched their ears.
My sound and skin, it seemed,
were no longer inside the lines of my being.
They never saw me before, anyway
Neither did they hear,
I console.
But what eats into me is that
nor can I myself, anymore.
But, with my fading mirage,
the secrets come out,
the words that were caged to spare my ears
were now let out.
They burned my wind-colored body
and shred the faith I gathered over years,
but with it came a power
of knowledge, of fear.
With my flesh, I let go of the dread
that held me back
and I bit into the gut
of the scar-makers in my past.
My unseen eyes savored their pain.
My unfazed gait contorted with disdain.
The faceless anonymity
and the soundless voice
finally set me free.
The song I sang without my voice
was the sweetest one yet.
And the smile I made with a transparent face
was brighter than the sun that set.
…now that you’re here
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