i don’t run away from my emotions, i go to battle with them
and, oh, what a bloody and sordid affair it has been
there is no rest for the combatants, no sure sign of retreat
the fighting, although always seemingly within reach of its conclusion, wages on ceaselessly
but to the world, i’m just a wretched soul
too concerned with what i see with my own eyes
too enraged by the fact that the air i breathe has been corrupted by feckless tyrants
too preoccupied with the suffering of the meek and pathetic i was taught to care for
at the center of it all stands the greatest of questions - how does one remain civil in all of this?
the answer, for me, has been to wage this war within myself
each day, i am careful to shield onlookers from the tumult, the vitriol, the sheer panic and disarray
this flaccid affectation, the sort of placid amenability, is simply a veneer, repelling the truth to devastating effect
when i wake, i declare truce, knowing full well that conflict awaits at nightfall
and, battle-worn, my words prepare for the standoff with a grit unmatched
ribbons of scarlet and ruby erupt from my skin, leaving only the trace of a tortured and timid spirit too stubborn to admit defeat
so, when i look away as you scoff and jeer,
or become ornery when the conversation flows into the devastation of this human experience, which i have begrudgingly come to love,
know simply that this has always been a matter of life or death for me
and the only specter of triumph in this fearsome conquest
has been choosing the former
