pt1

I see the crevices where my mind has changed route

Where the blood has stopped flowing and changed direction

To kill off the illusion of rage and hypocrisy

There’s a skin shed in the corner of the room

no one speaks of it but me

Who’s skin is that? Who was left so empty?

I cry and point and stammer on revealing my weakness

Telling them I can only be human and nothing more

Not a god, not a demon, but the pattern of survival

And the louder I plead the looser the skin

til it falls to the floor

Just like that one in the corner

then a sliver of light shines between the curtain

-Saschia Johnson