Scar - Audre Lorde

This is a simple poem.
For the mothers sisters daughters
girls I have never been
for the women who clean the Staten Island Ferry
for the sleek witches who burn
me at midnight
in effigy
because I eat at their tables
and sleep with their ghosts.

These stones in my heart are you
of my own flesh
whittling me with your sharp false eyes
searching for prisms
falling out of your head
laughing me out of your skin
because you do not value your own
self
nor me.

( This is a simple poem... )