Confessions of the undocumented

My disturbing nostalgia of that camp 

lingers behind a wall,

a wall I now adorn 

with Disney dreams and vibrant birds,

waterlily pads and ponds.

But the crocodile that lurks beneath 

is threatening my dreams.

The wallpaper peels away,

exposing fragments of ashes, 

embers still smoldering within,

continuing to burn me.

This is not a memory I cherish.

With three simple words “stop the boats”

slogans of bigotry wave high, 

a torn flag in a child's heart.

Policies scratch away life,

chirping birds now silenced,

drinking from a fountain that runs dry.

Bones and feathers are scattered

on my bedside table wall.

I'm doing my best 

to stitch it all back together.

But my existence 

like my hands are cramping 

I can't sew anymore!

The needle has rusted!"

Injustices 

continue to wreak my way.

So I look into other peoples rooms

All the time!

No room of comfort for me

in these spaces!

Their rooms are adorned

with school sticky notes and achievements,

yet to come

University or Tafe!

Those dreams,

I can’t have and never will have 

in my prime

So I shake the scales of justice 

pleading for her to finally balance. 

Instead, a peace offering of pity is bestowed,

while turning a blind eye the other way.