I see it in your eyes.
How you cannot meet my gaze,
your lips — a thin line.
your white knuckles.
Is it because my accent tells you that I was born abroad?
Is it because my clothes are worn, mismatched or outdated?
Is it how I reek of urine, booze and sweat?
Yes, I understand disgust.
You have never seen what I have seen.
You have never felt the thorns I have.
You have never woken up to cluster bombs exploding.
You don’t have blisters, you have never walked a mile in my shoes.
How about compassion?
A little late to the party this week and quite busy this week. But I couldn’t stop myself from submitting.
Friday Fictioneers is a wonderful blogging community for fiction (and sometimes poetry).
Rochelle selects the example… we follow and do our best.
May 17, 2018