A cousin points and I swallow the silence

A cousin points and I swallow the silence,

a birthmark, a small island, a vivid scar,

every glance a reminder, skin catching light,

while I duck behind long sleeves, try to hide,

feeling different, tangled in childish shame.

Conversations flutter, awkward, unsure,

like the shifting of a restless breeze,

but every laugh feels like a blade,

sharp against my wrist, tracing history,

a conversation starter or another end.