I Learned to See With My Mouth

No eyes. No sky. Just a line going by. Acid light at the ceiling of day, black cloth swallowing the shape of my name. Every white thread in my face tries to stay, but the red runs straight where the looking was made. I stood still while the color took aim. One hot rail through the window of shame. Somebody drew me like a storm in a frame, then left me breathing in the grain. I learned to see with my mouth. I learned to speak through the stripe. When they laid that line across me, I turned the dark into sight. I learned to see with my mouth. I learned to sing without eyes. Red line, red line you don't get the whole sky. Violet walls at the edge of the room, lime-bright fever where the silence blooms. The siren lies flat, but it moves like a bruise; I can't look back, so I listen for truth. Black coat, black coat, hold me still. White marks climb like veins on a hill. I keep one word under my tongue for the day the blindfold comes undone. Who drew the border? (Not my blood.) Who cut the morning? (Not my love.) Who owns the color? (Not that stripe.) Who steals the vision? (Not the voice.) I learned to see with my mouth. I learned to speak through the stripe. When they laid that line across me, I turned the dark into sight. I learned to see with my mouth. I learned to sing without eyes. Red line, red line you don't get the whole sky. Under the band, there is a pulse. Under the noise, a quiet knife. Under the face they tried to fold, I found the room inside my life. No witness but the mark in me. No mirror but the sound. I was not erased. I was redrawn. I learned to see with my mouth. I learned to burn through the stripe. They can cover the window, but they can't command the light. I learned to see with my mouth. I learned to sing without eyes. Red line, red line you don't get the whole sky. Red line, red line you don't get the whole sky. No eyes. Still sight. No sky. Still flight. Red line... not mine.