I do not have the privilege of self-discovery
they do not give me the option to seek
pure, unadulterated truth.
selfish, they call me.
reckless.
extreme.
I don't quite understand what they mean.
they live detached, so blind and content
oblivious to the perpetuation
in every bite, in every breath,
in every choice already made
by the root of our elaborate,
laborious lie,
too common to warrant an alibi.
pass it on pass it on
accept this inheritance
I do not want
but cannot escape.
"truth is trivial"
they're trying to say
but I refuse to allow their words,
rank with the refuse of ages.
"coward" whispers the wind in the leaves
that blows me bare
of the empty internal promises I wear
like a comforting and familiar woolen cap.
they're dragging my reluctant child self
triple steps to every stride
but with eyes still open wide
a burning double condemnation
to the most excruciating prison --
the unintended one.
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