Roughed up skin
Edges are granite; souls locked within.
They didn't like my roughed up, pale skin.

There was no hair creeping up my arm skins.
No chicken bones and unfortunate as it was
I apologise for my meaty thighs
The crippling weight of murderous eyes.

I feel I must apologise for my thick and thin shorts
I am the crippled master, of some sorts.

Poetry may heal
But medication never really helps?

Please don't hurt me
I swear I am true
My goddess shines bright
But through her, you see right through.

I am a goddess entwined with bullets
My veil is nothing but a leaf
"The poetry of the earth is never dead"

Yet I pollute, I pollute, I pollute.

I am a goddess, and so are you!
I apologise for that.

Please do not hurt me,
I swear I am true

My body is not a battlefield;
It is the very sign of you.