the itch that just won’t go away

You’ve just caught it.
The itch that just won’t go away.

You scratch it.
It feels good.
Temporarily, ephemerally, but unmistakably good.
You scratch it; over and over and over again.
Until you bleed and it hurts;
Until you bleed and you hurt.
Yet you continue scratching;
It hurts, but it still felt good.
It’s strange, and you’re confused;
You know it’d be bad if you kept scratching.
Yet you continued scratching anyway.

Another scratch.
Ah.
There’s no mistaking it this time.
One scratch too far; It really hurts.
It might have felt good some time ago, but all it is now is pain.
You stop scratching immediately.
You get up, look for medication and slowly tend to that wound.
Slowly, but surely, it mends.
It mends, and it hurts less.
It hurts less, and it hurts less.
Eventually, you feel much better.
Until it no longer hurts.
You remove those bandages only to be greeted by scars,
Tangible reminders that stick with you,

Forever.

As you move your fingers to touch it,
A familiar sensation shoots up your spine.
Like an old friend,
You recognised it immediately.

Ah.

A new itch.

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we the human race

humans

we the human race.
waged wars since time immemorial.
we burnt and blazed, still we plunder and raze.
made a living off the dead; built careers off of fear.

if we have to, we kill.
when it comes to ourselves there’s never a lack of zeal.
and though they always say, ‘these wounds will heal.’
the scars are there for all to feel.

it’s inescapable what colour it is you have on your hair,
no one will miss that your skin is a little less fair,
and soon, the built up illusion of harmony will rend and tear,
and tear, and tear, and tear, and tear.
’til we realise, in truth, how much everyone actually cares,
cares about us.

they care about us,
whether we would cause harm to them;
they’ll stay a little further.

they care about us,
whether we would swindle and cheat them;
they’ll clutch their bags a little closer.

they care about us,
whether we are going to threaten them,
whether we are going to be an obstacle,
they care about us.

why would it matter if i’ve got darker skin?
why should it matter that i’ve got hair on my chin?
why does society think of me as a walking sin,
and forget that, ultimately, we’re all one kin?

why does everybody care what it is that i wear?
why can’t they accept that i live with a little flair?
why do we have to make life a living nightmare
when sometimes, all we need to do is care?

i cannot fathom for the life of me,
why society has to think such things of me.
label me, denounce me and treat me
as if i’m some creature that needs to be locked up with a key?


o, future where i long to be!
thy blissful days of jubilee!
are thou over the hills or across the sea!?
… will i live long enough to ever see thee?


we the human race…
why do we deface ourselves?

on the surface we may all seem nice,
but underneath we’re all full of knives.
we live in a state of lies;
what a sorry state of life.