Clarity

You cannot tell me I do not understand,
you can only ask and trust I will be truthful.

You close your eyes to me
and turn your blinkers on.
Your mind degrades your opinion of us,
mind over matter
(and in your mind, we do not matter).
Your words smite as much as your hands would;
in time, I am learning this is as bad
as any hand you would lay on me.

Without the eloquence of the tapestry I weave,
you spatter your paint spots on me
bruises from a clumsy hand,
but not even as your victim
would I say your art is not worthy of it's canvas.

How can you tell me I am not worth the words I write?

Break my legs,
crack my wrists
and snap my neck,
squeeze me into a box not even you would fit.

This comfort that you preach,
is your conform in disguise -
where will you bury my body
when you realise this coffin will not keep me?

Toss my bones to the side of the road
and pick another victim for your games.