honestly

you are

a petulant child

negotiating indefensible positions

hoping mommy will relent

kicking

screaming

holding your breath

blue in the face

wearing red-face

pretending you’re the last feather

floating o’er the plains

you may have been told you are loved

and

you

may

in fact

be

but

if your peace is stolen by violence - as you would have others believe

you might look inward or

at your magic mirror to

find the culprit. tell

him whatever you want. tell

her what you will

they will, apparently, believe whatever

they’re told to believe. Whatever best fits

their narrative. It’s all fluid to

them. all relative to how

he feels, and how

she interprets and we know

we’re not allowed to

question the factuality of feelings

there are feelings and

yours appear infallible and

there are facts

they’re not foreign languages that need translating

they’re not your native language for

columbus to stumble upon

your calling is not to name things, nor to

cast light upon dark corners or

expose veins of decay

your province seems more colonial

thievery by anointed vocation

snatch and grab and declare

manifest destiny

slash and burn and

leave by the side of the road

flotsam from this wreckage will eventually

sink, or be washed away

tsunamis become waves become swells become ripples become still water

time’s reclamation effort

returning everything to nothing

fair exchange for our

transitory purchase of this mortal coil