My family don’t understand each other,
we speak in the dialect of ums, ‘que’s and huhs;
My brother watches me clean,
then wonders why I’m pissy;
My writing could turn me into someone worthy
though it’s all in my head. It
sits and gathers dust until
the capacity is reached
and its most crucial parts are
discarded.
My volition is missing, so
my family still don’t understand
each other;
It was easier in diapers,
before he left
his band shirts to collect dust
I stumbled around in high heels
covered in makeshift sharpie tattoos
on skin that has now regenerated thrice;
He doesn’t see the colours,
doesn’t appreciate neon greens and pinks;
It’s my turn to be misunderstood,
it would be fun; my first piercing
I feel like a creeproduction, a replica
My hair is poly and my personality
consists of uncanny brush strokes;
Harder to tell what's closer and
who's farther,
our local tongue has been bastardised, so
believe me when I mutter,
'I can't hear you'