POETRY | CONTEMPLATIVE

Divisible Remains

The stripping of identity in a profit-oriented society

Photo by National Cancer Institute on Unsplash

I am marked as merchandise,
a manila marker
stapled to my dermis,
displayed in rows
of deprivation.
Each wound is an entry
into their meticulous
documentation.
The morbid intent,
embossed on eviction
directives for my organs,
drums in my lungs,
and muted departures
moan in my ribs.

No prophecy is needed.
The barcodes bear
bold etchings,
slashings of black ink
branded into my fate,
scarred onto my skin—
skin they never believed
was my own.
Do they have no conscience,
or am I just
an insignificant being,
one they have discarded,
the notion that branded me
as one with life?
PVC shrink wrap—
stifling, sterile,
sealing
what they have not
yet seized.
They will slice me open
like a sinking company,
and siphon marrow
like black gold,
utilize me for profit,
and scrub all evidence.
I make no sound.
The lesion
that stole my voice
left no sign of struggle—
just another scar,
another soundless space
where my screams…