PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I feel them dying, I just never see the corpses.

I understand birth, it is life which mystifies me.

I could come to grips with abandonment, it is the mentality which I deny.

I would be heroic, if heroism wasn’t a cover for shortcomings.

I would save people, if I could avoid the saved.

Perhaps I would even come out, if coming out allowed me to be honest.

The honesty is protected by lies.

The lies maybe are not so guilty.

The betrayal is something like loyalty.

Loyalty to self, when the others don’t matter.

So little people talk about being big.

The big look down

and see giants at their feet.

Their feet are accorded little status.

The kickers of this world are given attention

only in spurts.

Because who needs to see our slaves

killing those

who would enslave us?

Who would enslave us?

Horrible monsters?

Or kind people,

with too much time on their hands?

Because the blood on mine

is seeping in.

I see my victims becoming me

I see myself taking on their traits,

and losing my identity,

but still,

victimizing.