tonight, i am not
walking fast enough,
in this hungry darkness —
my legs too short, or too long
for my clothes to hide.
i am not one to
be afraid; oblivious,
secure, leaving my mother
to watch the news
by herself.
but tonight, something
feels different. my heart
stumbles, racing, knowing
there’s no escape —
that out of the
dozens on this street, i am
the one the bullet will
find, or the car
will slam into
from behind.
in the morning,
pull my body from the
river, say a prayer.
i knew. tonight,
there was going to be
bloodshed. tonight, i would be
the one not
saved.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 7:39 PM UTC
tonight, i am not
walking fast enough,
in this hungry darkness —
my legs too short, or too long
for my clothes to hide.
i am not one to
be afraid; oblivious,
secure, leaving my mother
to watch the news
by herself.
but tonight, something
feels different. my heart
stumbles, racing, knowing
there’s no escape —
that out of the
dozens on this street, i am
the one the bullet will
find, or the car
will slam into
from behind.
in the morning,
pull my body from the
river, say a prayer.
i knew. tonight,
there was going to be
bloodshed. tonight, i would be
the one not
saved.
wrote this in my head, when i was walking home from a nearby mall one night, and it was so, so dark, and i just had this really weird feeling in my chest.
