demonghost

I was given a nickname, I was ten.
It seems that with each inch forward
that i take my demon reappears
i was given a name once
that i used to deny history
appropriate the short hand
term for "i don't speak your language."
but privilege
reprimands me
my gut, my bowl, my body
my poor, deep, shallow
well of silence
come back to us
i whisper enough
i can choose not to be
caught in the ropes and chains
the barriers of cultures and society's differences
yes, you are the one that's caught me here
alone in voice
all caught in throat
so throw me, far as the ends will meet me
and catch me, fly heavy my body, my cell
my block in the ocean, remains a rock version
of my heart.