by Bianca Delarosa

Little by little, you prick my soul

With your needles of hate.

Slap, turn cheek, slap, turn cheek
I have run out of face.
As much as you words bruise me,
Your indifference wounds me more.
I have been wronged! An injustice I say!
You hurry to point your dirty finger my way.
Look at you! Your clothes, your hair,
Your style, your flair.
What did you do?
Was it your mouth,
Was it your glare?
You shouldn’t have even been there!
Why must I
Be held to a higher standard
Than the next guy?
I know why.
When you look like me,
You toe the line
Or you die.

Rage by Bianca Delarosa

© Copyright 2014. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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