She
sweet escapism
disquisitionist
She said I don't know what suffering is,
and,
agreeing, I pulled back the tears that so
readily wanted
to
fall.

Sits in shifts after late nights
striped pants to cardiac
wrests in stead
of
song.

Turning to black faces for extortion of
a sympathetic smile
or pardon for my
pulled lip, and driving.

Be my arms, my strange sweat and skin.
Learn how to suffer properly
like you're 20 years and 4 generations down to
a superimposed image of
aggrieved.

I agreed, as I pulled back tears that
never really wanted
to fall.

?

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