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I am a fake
A mistake in a suit bearing fruit unlike that from which it came
Just the same
I stand unsmiling
Defiling those who stand in picket lines
Pay fines
Cry and whine
For one, small chance
To stand where I am standing now.
How
Did it go this far
To where I lost sight of the things with my name on them
To where I lay claim to other’s belongings because they were practical
And didn’t carry a stigma
An enigma in one room
With 64 eyes
All seeking answers
Speaking words they have yet to know how to pronounce
Denounce them.
Announce with a flourish, that though they are special
You were never really meant for this
For them
What are we really meant for, after all?
I am a fake
A mistake in a crumpled suit
Throwing accusations like boulders
Hurling expectations over shoulders of backs bowed and bent from anticipating my heels
I don’t know how it feels to fit tight
To fight
To reach for what is good- not just what is right
To light the torch and run deep into the night simply because someone else might see it
And know
That someone other than them is running
Running toward something
Not to run away
Or to find anything
Simply, to run
Because it is what I choose to do
Not what other’s expect
Or request
Or ingest
Or ascertain
Or place blame
Or diagnose- insane
In the sun or in the rain
Because I forgot my name
I’ll run until I find it
And shed the suit along the way
I was a fake.
I’m not today.