Polished skin

  1. A fraying thread now fading red knitting my heart splitting apart.
  2. A crimson rag I glisten tag the lonely tears that hold my fears.
  3. A tattered shawl in battered brawl comforts my back from hurt and crack,
  4. It flood with red from blood I shed, my weighted yoke, deflated, broke.
  5. A scarlet rope ‘round scar-red hope to bind a hole in mind and soul.
  6. A ruddy pin so bloody thin securing pain, injured again.
  7. A cherry cloth, it nary doth erase away the basest ache.
  8. And here I sit so counterfeit with polished skin but mauled within.

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By Kim Siever

Kim Siever is an independent queer journalist based in Lethbridge, Alberta. He writes daily news articles, focusing on politics and labour.

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