I
I struggle bombarded
with polarized hate divisive
with minute pickings
at threads not frayed
leading to gullies dark
where I cannot follow
it’s a fine line between
caring and perpetuating
II
in the other space
I retreat at entreaties nastily
jabbing, “Why do you…”
and ever wonder why “Because
I am not you” is never a retort
sufficient in the war
of butter on bread before jam
and is it jam or jelly anyway?
III
my dark is deep
I was born with it
like a shroud it warms
cold bones and sinew
in the deep recesses
sheltering from the sun
that singes, a sun cocooning
a web too tightly shatters
and the light gets in anyway
THE LIGHT GETS IN I choose
to let it, to pry that door open
