Animus is a napalm
That is sticky against your side.
They abhor how you’re calm
Whenever they start to deride.
You fight, you challenge, you strive.
They want what you make
But detest how you arrive.
You live for your own sake.
They can’t get past
The fact that you earned
Every coin to the last.
It’s something that they never learned.
As a captain of industry you know
That you’ve bled sweat.
And to get where you are you had to go
Past the mediocre set.
Instead, you’ve accomplished great
Feats. Your laurel has thorns.
You embrace their hate
With the playing of horns.
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Skyler Saunders
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Smartystan
Chanda sent home money every two weeks. In a small village in India, she deposited money into the bank account of her Aunt and Uncle who sent her to live in America. The place seemed so remote, almost cut off from the rest of the country. There, a festival took place where participants hurled cow eliminations at each other. The muddy, mucky sense of it had been known for centuries. Locals tied it to an ancient god who they believed restored people’s health with the cow plops. During the festival, thick patties hurled through the air and smushed into the bodies and faces of those rollicking around in the filth.
By Skyler SaundersExclusive • 3 days ago
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