BLANKET OF WORDS

They weave blankets of words,

Thick, layered, as though they know my cold,

Yet never felt my winter’s breath,

Sharp edges I grew from, scars beneath the gold.

They talk of pride, a shell they think I wear,

As if the weight of survival makes me rich,

As if my English tongue could unwrite

The stories inked in the silence of my skin.

They’ll never feel the nights I bled for dawn,

Unseen, unheard in shadows of my own,

Where I learned to carry myself,

When no one else was there to hold me.

But they’ll cast their cloth and call it truth,

Sewn tight with threads of envy and small talk,

Wrapped in warmth they think I don’t deserve,

While I stand, a winter child, untaught.

So speak your words in bundles, loud and soft,

Spin them as shelter for your sheltered mind,

But know that pride is sometimes armor,

Worn by those who’ve fought alone to rise.

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