To speak as if you know all, agree to all

Opinions on the dinner table, where internal war is common for the mindful

But only in the mind I remain, 

To break this quiet, I refrain 

For I have previously witnessed their disdain 

Mouth full, pardon my silence 

For it is not to be taken as agreement to what you speak 

But the tongue is purposely numb, 

Play dumb, play weak

I’m but the guest in my own abode, a stranger in the family and to my skin, 

Seated facing the jury in a court where the sentence is their courtship 

Internally, I am floating between foreign planets 

Looking for others with my skin. 

Acid in my veins 

Itching my scalp to insanity, 

But I contain this feeling mentally because I know that eventually,

I will fall back to Earth helplessly 

After all, they birthed me, earthed me, from early 


Molded and carved into a shapely 

Porcelain statue, to be placed on a pedestal 

Gazed upon, up-on their shoulders,

Well raised, ungrazed, untouched, 

Behold… Isn’t she beautiful? 

Hold… Me

Air is tight and light is dull within these walls


This weight on my porcelain shoulders 

Of course I was bound to crack, harboring the world on my back, 


The perfect posture that they built, 

I wilt, like a flower touching the soil for rest

Compressed, like petals into the pages of an old book, 

Fossil figure fading under the soil, 

A gun that won’t recoil.

For if I spoke, the bullets will tear into their image of me,

But I care too much  

I do not dare 

To speak, 

An answer from me please do not seek

Do not reveal this hidden freak.

In this battlefield, I’d rather not die a death slain by the sharpness of my own knife,

Once handed to me as a smooth rod to always hold straight, 

Not to stray from a heavenly fate

Remain in an oblivious state, do not debate

Your God, your life, your morality, your sanity, 

Their God, their life, their morality, insanity! 

In the walls they built around me and called “home” 

I roam 

The halls, looking, not speaking, lost, but seeking 

Alone I am, the only home I have is the pen that slices into me, 

But I fear 

That no one will read between the lines in here

And although my home is paper and ink

Do not be quick to think 

That I am brave, 

I am but a slave, to my pen

Inside my halls hangs a bone chandelier 

And the light barely seeps 

Through the window, only fear creeps. 

4.34, red around the rim, 

In the break of dawn when lights are dim, 

The time of the singing sirens, 

I dread my wake for the coming sun

To be seated again at the setting ray.

Where I am but garnish on the dinner table 

Satisfying a sinner’s fable 

Dining on  sour thoughts 

Choking on lumps of opinions 

And talking to the echo I hear within 

The cracks of my porcelain skin. 

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