"What's wrong?" I'm asked
A question, sincere
Laced with generational insincerity
A question, almost social
Tears threatening to leak
Concern laying however, with the following insincerity
Secrets unspoken, bitten tongue
One two three, the colours I see
Grey silver green
Stepping back in my spot unmoving
The question is more than a question
And words casual can mean more than first glance
Head turned away and gaze following
Stares unshared

As if I'll ever choose
To voice the letters scribed into the contours of my tongue
When any following response
Will only deepen the dents I have scribed
The contours that cause my speech to turn awry
And my vision to return to basic observation
One two three

We are the children of tradition
In an untraditional society
We are the children of progression
In an unprogressing society
We are the children of peace
In an unpeaceful society
Meshing together these inconsistencies
As human nature
And as differences irreconcilable
Like ripping stitches out of a deep wound
And those hurt from the stitches ripped not considered
Just the remaining wound sitting in the middle of two parts of skin
And we keep it that way
Say the wound can be covered with a band aid
Unhealing
Coveted
Yet a chosen problem to remain
Both skin one and the same
Wound hurting
Deep and unhealthy
Yet both sides claim they are healing from
The deep hurt at bay
Unseeing of the weeping sway
That stops and dries, for birthing in these conditions can only exhaust and fray
Ply out the mercy sowed into each and every cell
Yet we are still
All skin and clay
From one and the same

If only these wounds never came to be

It's easy for oppressed groups to oppress
All they could learn from their oppressors
Victims slowly disappearing
In the wake of weaponised victimisation
And in its beauty deep crevices
Hiding cracks that leak the blood that
Allows for its power
These cracks filled with
Those caught in the hold
Of the weapon wielders
And the cracks were never smoothed,
Never shaped to be merciful
Just accepting enough that
The crevices are filled to hold onto power
And there is no power without
All that holds the oppressed in place of power
And hidden away are those who suffer their wrath
Wanting freedom
Yet not wanting the freedom at hand
For one freedom hurts to their death
And another takes their last breath unreached

My highest point
Hanging
Abyss below me
Fence fraying above me
And what I'd do to see it hold
When all I can see is the nails
Come loose

The ground I once stood on
Always shook
For me who thought that the
Sides of the fence were not meant
To be joined
And I who came to stand on it
My zenith
Before the floor stopped shaking
And fell away completely

Balance
Only a necessity for those who
Choose an in-between
Time will always run out
Quicker for those
Who try to hold onto
The flimsy fence that separates
Green grass
From even more green grass
One side gone yellow to the other
And one side uprooted to the other

And the fence
That always stood as wood
Aging in splinters and mold
Is still wood
Until it comes free
It is then scraps
For whichever side chooses
What use it is fit for
Because sticks and stones
Will break bones
But sticks cannot repair
Broken strands of bark
Where blades of grass can mend
In the sun

And the fence that sat there
Performed it's duty
Unstable on stable ground
Stability withdrawn smoothly
Cut when not on grounds
Comes loose

Hanging
Fingers locked in place

Like a drop of water
Rolling off a petal,
I'll treat you like a flower
Resisting the rain that never settles

I'm in my peaceful place
In the comfort of my me
Breathing the air that
God gave me

How am I to help
When suddenly
Slice
Your words cut so effortlessly

And I was lost
By your continual sway
The way you continue
To barrage on me

Loud and echoing
I can't seem to shut you out
You're supposed to nourish me
But yet the only time I feel you
Is when you push me towards death



It continues to rain on
And so I close my eyes to breathe
I'll let your words roll off me
As I listen to my own heart beat

Today,
Let me feel hatred
For those who have it better than me
Let me feel pain
In those moments that mean little than small mishaps
Let me feel overwhelmed
By the repetition of acts that go against my boundaries
Let me overflow
With words unspoken, slipped into
sweet frustration
Let me imagine
What I do not have,
What I cannot have
And have it in a way that is
Self-satisfactory
Let me withdraw
Tell myself I feel better
Only to feel the finger tips of bitter grace roiling its way
Into my vision again

Let me
Let me be free

Dragged and drawn...
Out
Tired and resisting sleep
Eyes barely open,
Mind barely present

A cage is not a cage because of its bars
Or the space that it provides
Or the bed that it allows
A cage is a cage because it
Turns life pointless
Holds life in its claws and
Never lands
Falling with no end
Screaming in a vacuum
Unheard
Shackled to a life that disregards
Your life

Breathing never felt as it used to