Ghost Town

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Ghost Town

Whisper, whisper
she can’t hear you.
Victimized ears leave her
to decipher only the motions
of your venomous lips.

A charity case.
She doesn’t belong.
Cowards of diversity
tear through the halls
on their highest of horses,
pillaging a ghost town of insignificants.

Why do you belong?
Is it because of the sharpness
of your hearing ears?
Because your pieces are undamaged,
while hers are defected and dysfunctional?

Trudging along the dingy, neutral tiles
the bells and racket go unheard—
Alarm signals
on an uninhabited island.


Averted eye contact,
as if she is infectious.
Strangers shift away.
She’s impaired but not contagious.
Whisper, whisper
she can’t hear you.





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