the joker

slow does the bitter draught of acid climb my throat,
and heavy lies the weight of a thousand eyes upon my skin
pressing, pricking, tracing the edges of me
but do they know what lies within?

long did i labor each note of my mother’s tongue,
shaping each sound in fear and trepidation
and when at last the words began to flow,
i prayed they might carry me to salvation

i bleach my tan skin to ghostly white

and dye my jet-black hair a poison’s green

that is all they choose to see – the jester –

so i paint, on my mouth, a big red grin.

piecing together the shards of broken history,

i see the tale as they have written:

the ink runs black, the verdict fixed,

i realize, by their hand, i am meant to be the villain.