gedicht

my skin a shell that cages     that shackles me inside my blackened body bearing no resemblance to this mind of mine a clutter of loose ends unspoken by their language never to be spoken aptly by any of my kind     My skin? To have a color I call mine     a wholesome soul     I desire the unblemished pale shallowness of others envy the naïve straightness maleness never to be mine    for I have grown this being un-made from guilt and venom spit upon my kind cohering this shell that I must call mine this shell that I will call mine Über […]