Prejudiced · 3:39am Jun 5th, 2020
It prickles deep within me: fear
Entangled through my chest.
Whenever people gather near,
I gasp a thinner atmosphere
While looking unimpressed.
Projecting calm is vital: none
Can know the clench I feel.
I squint a glance. Is that a gun?
A badge reflecting noontime sun?
It's getting more surreal.
In school, the kids who punched me? Blonde,
Displaying hearty smiles.
Instinctively, I now respond
With twitches, snorts, and more beyond;
Inside, my heart reviles.
I know they're evil bastards, know
They haven't changed a bit.
The blue-eyed, grasping monsters sow
Destruction: "Death to those below,
To those we deem unfit!"
They lie without a scruple, cheat
Because they don't believe
That anyone who doesn't meet
Their standard mold is quite complete:
We're lesser, tools, naive.
Courageous people glower, act,
Their voices massed and raised,
Defending lives when they're attacked,
To counter ignorance with fact,
To push against the crazed.
The cowardly do nothing. We
Remain a silent stew.
Discreet and deep where none can see,
Resentment simmers time's debris,
Refusing every cue.
And yet I'm always pleasant. Look!
I greet them, try to help
Their nasty children find a book,
Or print the travel pics they took
Without a single yelp.
Because I hate the hatred, trust
My feelings not at all.
Is crime a crime? Is justice just?
I'm stirred and shaken, sore, nonplussed;
Despised, I spin and fall.
It's small, the voice that mutters, "Stop.
Humanity contains
The looter and the vicious cop,
The great success, the tragic flop,
The credits and the stains."
I wallow, worn by weakness, lack
Conviction, gumption, spine.
Equivocation draws me back,
My every path a wayward track.
I waver, redefine—
Until at last I'm frozen, still,
Inaction now my choice.
It's right and wrong that make me ill,
The need to exercise the will,
To raise my feeble voice.
For good and bad are ugly: that's
A phrase approaching truth.
Reality, with all its hats,
Presents among the fluffy cats
The stench of rotting tooth.
Bye
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Pray, let not the portal strike thy fundament as thou departest.
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"This is not an airport; you don't have to announce your departure."
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"Nooo! Not poetry! Fleeeeee!"
(I'm just kidding Augie, your stuff is way better than Dave's)
Humanity's a mixéd bag
Aught else I can't pretend.
I can't shut up the subtle nag,
But know that having raised your flag
You stand here among friends.
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