There is a rot within my bones,
an infection forcibly injected,
a spread of sludge whose origins
are drenched in impunity.
I did not know I was whole
until my wholeness was preyed upon;
did not know I was a country
until unwillingly colonized.
I did not know what silence meant
until it became obligation over option;
did not know I could be spoken for
by someone who’s asked me no questions.
I never questioned who I was
until others proved what they are not
and now there is a rot in my bones,
irreversible, unhealable, all encompassing.
I am defined by my rot,
named by an unspeakable sludge,
unseen until the mirror cracks,
until I am no longer the only one looking back