Fangs out

 

Fangs for the memories,

the blood-stained seas

that torment me.

The torrential hail

that tries to impale

my thoughts, like a stake

to the heart. I take

them all with me, as I depart.

A foggy mist over the view.

Blink and you'll miss me

waving through.

 

But then there are always them,

the ones that bring endless pain.

They can't let me be, they want to stain

the night with my name, and drain

my life of what it means to be me.

Hammering nails

into my coffin lid,

before darkness leaks in.

To stop me from

walking the streets

I was born within.

 

I usually take it all on the chin,

like a droplet of blood

after a night feasting,

But I'm feeling

like I'm being mistreated.

Just for being different in my skin.

This isn't the way

this world should see.

We are all a part

of its grand story.

So maybe,

try to understand

That we all have a right to be.

 

So, fangs but no fangs

if I don't shake your hand.

I've just washed mine,

and I don't want them

contaminating.

Hatred has no place on these shores.

Difference, we should applaud.

Just because we don't walk

the same story as yours,

doesn't make our story

any less worthy of applause.

 

 

Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
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You can find my New book
"Tales from the 44A"
here
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DBKXPN13/

Please buy a copy to help me
continue to do this.

Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle