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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

One day I gave up my life to another
Only to find that my mother had given it away before I was born
Before I could utter my first words
Moments pass and I choke
Degradation strikes its greatest with every passing spoken sting
that jabs a knife at the weakest of offenders
Which is stronger, you make ask, the man who wields the knife or the man that wields a thought
How remarkably easy it is to defer
your human rights
how remarkably hard it is to face the shadow of time
and hang on every second wasted
wasted, what a peculiar word
as we refer to it as someone who is drunk beyond any sense of consciousness
without direction, as trash waiting to be collected
the wasted opportunities pile up like trash on your doorstep
you shove it out of the way as nothing but a nuisance
until it blocks you in and refuses to be ignored
the man above you throws the last piece of trash out of the window that accepted its own fate
only to tumble down from the window and block the sun for just a moment
crashing down on every piece of trash that has been forgotten
and jostles it
ever so slightly
until the piece of trash meets its final resting place
and in its wake
a simple shift breaks away
the mountain screams in defiance with every word of advice it has ever gotten
when speaking of things such as equality and humanity
funny how overwhelming silence
can speak so loudly

Submitted: November 30, 2021

© Copyright 2022 Roxanne B.. All rights reserved.

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How exactly did you give up your life for another, only to discover that your mother had given it away before you were born? That sounds strange.

Sat, December 4th, 2021 7:44am

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