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safe.

they shouted and raged,
cried tears that were so angry,
pounded on doors
and keyboards,
until their fingers bled.
they yelled until they were hoarse
and then they whispered until there was no sound.
in the silence you could hear their needs
needs to feel safe,
needs to be strong,
the left and the right,
and neither was wrong.

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the repertoire.

People say cruel things now,
Their words are harsh and unfiltered,
cold as steel and ice and salt;
words that exist only to burn
some other human being.
A repertoire of vindication;
crueler, harsher, colder words
that are supposed to prove ones righteousness,
that are supposed to prove ones right to be,
that are supposed to combat the first cycle of viciousness
But it doesn’t.
Instead whatever humanity is left,
if there is any, was any,
is faded just a bit more –
a red wine, coffee stain, grass stain
that gets smaller and dimmer and duller
with each wash,
until it can barely be seen in the brightest of lights.
That’s us now. Them now.
One against the other,
as if we, they, aren’t all in this together.
As if we, they, can escape this planet
in any other way except death.
We all die, sometime or the other,
regardless of whether we have lived happy lives
or sad lives or fulfilled lives.
No matter.
It’s the between that is important.
What they do with themselves now –
to see them so awful and miserable
and not the least defiant –
Not the least willing to listen to their God –
the one who said fear not!
The violence in their words leaves black marks,
like black eyes and bloody noses and dark yellow bruises;
and they mean it so,
to be cruel and harsh and cold.
The repertoire of vindication –
without a sun there is no light
and without a light there is only darkness –
and they are content with the windowless rooms
they have built over the dreams of others.