J.G. Finch Poems

They fight but is it my fight?
What have I done but be born with black skin?
They fight, red against blue
...

The love
for the taste of pain,
like the smell of flesh
bathed in expensive perfume
...

Heaviness painfully throbbed your beating heart,
as the world could not understand it
and could never see it.
With your slurred words
...

Don't touch me with those soft hands
Don't sit and pout in front of me
expecting me to stare into your beauty
To be lost into your skin
...