By: Michelle Faulkner

This is not a quaint case of the blues
No handkerchief for a dainty cheek
I want to howl, I want to shriek
I want to tear the world in two

As you safely stand
In your well-dressed land
Handing out ornate soliloquies
Like pennies
yet neglecting to understand
The poverty of agony

While my dingy demeanor
is dismissed
I will burn buildings
if you insist

On painting glitter
over rage
On labeling my pain
a phase

An inconvenient rite, a blight
On your ladylike
well-mannered path
My wrists bleeding
As you correct my math

My words are not petty, not obscene
I am not a robot, not a machine

To defuse, deprogram or debug
Or merely lock away and shrug

In your placid belief
that compliance is peace
What is prison for
If not release?

When I am tumbling through
Unstable skies
And need a roof
to calm my eyes
It is your
structured strength
which I rely
To sit with me
and ask me why