Unheard, Unseen

Xaymara Díaz Rosado
Departamento de Psicología
Facultad de Ciencias Sociales

I move mountains,

I strike fires,

All under my skin

and still, they do not see.

I wage a storm in a cage,

I never asked for ice,

and the ground crumbles,

under the hate

a heart cannot contain,

and still!

Still they do not see...

still their blind eyes plead,

Give...

Give.

It’s your biological calling.

Nature’s materiality.

And so, still I fight, still I claw,

still I stir, and try to warm,

yet still my cawing and calling,

means nothing,

and yet my screams

find no ears,

and my rage,

finds no face,

in this home out of place.

So I wear a face,

a name,

to slide through my days,

unseen, unheard.

I produce,

echoes of laughter,

to mute the taste,

in this invisible cage.

and through the rage,

I wonder, if ever slain,

unheard, unseen,

is a corpse dying?

or is its meaning

lost for others living?

Yet still I live,

Where others like me are broken,

Still.

And still,

Still.

They do not see.

How sex can be a chain,

Gender our mortality,

Still, despite our riots,

Our hurting,

And trying,

Still, I live,

And still,

They do not see.

Revista [IN]Genios, Vol. 3, Núm. 2 (febrero, 2017).
ISSN#: 2374-2747
Universidad de Puerto Rico, Río Piedras
© 2017, Copyright. Todos los derechos están reservados.