Wednesday, 23 March 2016

Cuts

When they cut off my big toe
I lost a bit of my balance but
I could still stand on my own
Two feet

When they cut off my hand
I had at least something to catch
The scraps that trickled down
Like tears

When they cut out my tongue
I used my working hand to type
Letters of protest against
Deaf ears

When they cut out my eyes
It benefitted my capacity
To taste what I could not afford
To eat

When they cut out my heart
Leaving nothing more to cut
They skipped onto the next
In a beat