napowrimo: refugee (day 12)

borrowing breath from tomorrow
staves lament just a moment longer.
wiping the ash off one another’s
face and taking a damp towel to the
dried blood; we trace our new scars
to remind ourselves that the wounds
we endured will never be expunged.
our story is far too familiar,
a hundred-something thousand voices
silenced. we both know that after a
certain number of deaths, it becomes
a statistic, the mind glosses over it,
unable to fully understand the true
depth of what it means to have
that many dead. we’re driven off
the lands we know, and traverse
the foreign lands where you promised
hope, respite, a chance to wash
yourself anew but only to find
ourselves speaking a bit louder,
fighting a bit harder until that
becomes the new norm;

we will never be home.

visual: https://imgur.com/BKQf9Ca