Poetry

Uncovered (draft)

Why should my  sensitivity

be a sign

of who I am?

 

Why

should I be measured by

the bruises I bear

from a night of unrest,

when all I asked for

was hospitality?

 

Why would you seek

to drug me

with pea-sized pills

and force me to climb

the innerspring tower,

when a simple question

would so easily give

rest to your doubts?

 

Don’t take my truths

as acceptance

of your hand.

 

If you had

seen me

first, I may have reconsidered.

 

The cover has been

removed from you, not me.

 

Your chance has been spoiled:

blind

desire has that effect.

You will

see.

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