I Am Not.

By Hannah Bhullar

You grope my skin and press into this soft flesh with vigour.

My goosebumps are braille for what you seek in this body of mine.

Your words are a bomb - and my existence - the trigger.

You hear the blast, but not the ticks.

You smell the fumes, but not the fuel.

You see the fire, but not the pain.

When the flames roared and spat, they battled my body that fought for your honour.

But the stench of truth was too strong for a senseless creature like you.

I wear this shame as lotion on this filthy skin of mine.

It tames the rashes, boils and bumps.

It conceals the scars you have never seen and never will see.

It seals the past into the pages of my flesh.

My skin pulls and itches around this tired heart of mine, 

and the jagged-unhealed bones in my back.

It fails to hide the tremble of my lips, or the wetness of my tears.

It couldn't hide me from you,

and the terror I hold in these brown, bloodshot eyes.

It is as brutal and cold as the day I was born.

And I shall be warm, and everything the world is not.

By Hannah Bhullar