Their sharpened whispers crackled in the room
like a snapping storm, never ceasing.
Crawling up my legs, scaling down my arms,
a rusted, decrepit camera imprisons the solitude.
“Born a bomber, born a killer” A terrorist “Go back you freak!”

Am I a stereotype to you? My language?
Nestled soundlessly in the corner,
Ragged and illuminating in the dark
slowly thinning,
blurred out like the midnight ink
smeared across the salt ridden sheets,
crinkled and stained.
Who am I?
The repulsed dirt skin, singed brown hair; filthy, disgusting
built far from Australia
built far from the template of perfection.
Carting around my culture, my faith, my religion,
“strange” the murmurs echo around me.

You say I ruin Australia, I’m the intruder. And yet you aren’t?
You say I ruin Australia, but do you even know me?
We are more than just refugees scorched by the glaring heat, we are Australians.
An isolated island cemented away from the world, a wall divides us.
Australia’s left overs we are.
Will I ever belong here?