My skin is enemy territory
Checkpoints on every freckle
Where gunmen sit, waiting
For me to undress and notice them.
My skin was once familiar, comfortable
But they have strength in numbers
and I have been reduced to rubble, ashes.
The leaders of this coup
Have taken this land as theirs
Again and again
Thrusting their boots against my soil
Marching, chanting, arms aimed, engaged to remind me
They have strength in numbers.
But today
I sit alone, in the cover of darkness
Today
I kneel in the rubble of my once
majestic structure to paint their blood on my hands
and stand once more, flag in hand.
Today
I thrust the pole again
