The commodification of grief
Collect the tightness in your chest
Breath spurting like water through a garden hose when you press your thumb on it, Blown through a bullhorn and into the bowls of hungry eyes -
They want to eat your grief.
Staring with eager fingers on triggers ready to snap to affirm that your pain is their vegan lunch. Chewed muscles ache between shoulder blades weary from carrying their validation; the "yes" coiled tightly around their fingers and your wrists, the “yes” that is only slightly louder than their resentment, the “yes” that only serves to make their eyes bluer and hair straighter than contact lenses or hot irons could ever do. I’m tired of empathy always pointing north. They’ve magnetized love to crush throats and stutter tongues perforate us into delicacy. I am not your imported fabric brocaded capital identity politic. I was born with my mother’s blood in my mouth. and I was sent here to destroy you maybe, or to walk two steps behind you as you leak your emptiness into my palms.
