Your outrage is a foot
on my throat, my mute
mouth is no match
against the clatter
and bash, like
the banging of pots
and pans on New Years
Eve, your outrage is
expressed as joy
while mine is broken
into a thousand silent
pieces, mine now
yours
Your outrage has
made mine invisible
and even improbable
You are the worst
kind of thief
of uncountable
things
with no evidence
of your onus, once
mine, heavy with
time but made
light of
No wonder your
outrage comes so
easy, weightless
as it is
I do not want
to be any part
of the cause
you took from
me, made
ridiculous
squalid and
squandered
I want you to feel
the real thing, at
least. up until the
moment it silences
you