The Skin of Truth
Editor’s Note: This featured poetry is written by 14-year-old Maria Arango from Florida, USA.
My cinnamon skin spreads over my body
hiding my soft moist flesh
in between bones and fat -
I’m no longer owner of my body.
I hold a liver that reaches the melody of my tongue
as it whispers the colors of raw meat.
The letters of my name were forced in the middle
of my teeth stuck under a sound immigrant.
Letting go of a chest gasping for blood
to hold in captive a chunky yellow heart
covered by fat.
Green veins splatter
as I crave to fit in eyes that wash me clean.
I fear my blood because this labels me,
how could I ignore illegal
When 12.7 million wear my skin, my eyes,
my lips, my hands, my heart, my liver
and when we share sentences of a story.
My sweet night eyes drown,
I could only speak my truth
as it swims around my body.