My body is a country invaded by men who’ve stolen land and dreams bigger than they were given to take. Broken laws with no one in charge. Children starve when the hands that feed mouths are furrowed between legs.
My body is a country with immigrants burrowing under boundaries that were never meant to be crossed. Dirtied. Out of place. Running for their lives. I’ve been running for my life since he crossed the border. A nomad man. no man. mad man. Running. With just a fingerprint for a face and a grunt for a name.
It’s a shame that he travels alone. Even in a pack he is the odd one out. Even his family doesn’t call him their own. His wife hides her face. His children carry his–story. Something to show off. But not me.
I am his destination. A journey’s end, though he makes it every day. A self-fulfilling prophecy. Cause and effect. Means to an end. I am the means. I am the end. The end. End. End.
This is not the end.