Inkwell

This is a left-leaning swan dive

Into an ocean of maybes,

A crusade turned genocide

Because I exist too loudly.

God isn’t real for me

And I’ve made peace with that

But not the knives angled

At my throat from my brothers

Or the swords slid in my womb

From my sisters.

.

This is a systematic slaughtering,

A culling of mourning,

A transforming

Of good intentions

Into wicked objectives.

The world is bleeding

And I am stupid enough

To open my mouth

And swallow.

.

Maybe one day the pill

Won’t be so bitter

Or maybe I’ll have just

Poisoned myself enough

To have lost the empathy

That soldiers through

Fields of endless apathy

And shifts the base instincts

Of my soul into something…

Salvageable.

.

I am a monster

Yet somehow ten times

The human of any man

That stands before me.

I have no death on my hands

And I incite no violence.

If my tears are offensive

Maybe stop raining your fists

Across my back

And give me a moment

To breathe.

.

I cannot be clear enough,

Not in my words or sentiments.

Chain. Me. Up.

Put me on the funeral pyre

And set me ablaze.

Let the world see

What it means to die

With the words still

Stuck in your mouth.

I will bleed for this

In the hopes that someone

Will swallow.

.

First, last, and always,

I am the ink in the pen.

There is no silencing this,

Not by law or morality

Or any fickle thing humanity

Has to fucking offer me.

I cannot be bought

When my inkwell is full.