I pick at the wings on my back
Why did you paint me like that?
In a bubble away from all that is human
Why did your freckled hands
Paint me to look like heaven
I yearn for blemishes and bruises

Why did you separate me from my home
From my people my identity and culture
Why did you cast me in womanhood and sugar
Like crystals on my tongue

What is immaculate about my conception?
The continuous rejection of my humanity
I’m just a work of art in your eyes
Why do you patronise me with the words
Sacred and saintly celestial being

Why do you put me on a pedestal
Removing my arms so I can’t fight
Remove my face so I’m not favoured for my uniqueness
You turned me into a symbol
You turned my breath into an object of study

Dehumanised but beautiful
A mute angel with no agency
With your Saviour complex halo on your head
You pulled me out of the waters
And set me on a deadly pedestal
And you called me a work of art





Photo by Hugo Delauney on Unsplash