Glass

The glass walls are broken,

Yet still I cannot leave.

Blood gushes from my chest,

And spills on to the floor,

Drizzling like fine honey.

 

I am the artist whose hands

Came together to make this.

I call it a train-wreck transparency;

Can you see it?

It is a masterpiece and a disaster.

 

Touching it will cut your fingers and

Scar your arms. You see, some of us

Are made of glass

And the hearts we hide are hungry

For someone else’s blood.


Sadia Ahmed, 2017

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