I take pause with my hard heart, tally loss and strike lines against my armor. Victory does not define me, I am a sum of negatives and thyrsus, humming Hallelujah in a parking lot where the worse for wear are scarred and dangerous. Impatient and gumming for the first furlough that won’t shout evoë! Crowded in a sound that shouts and rounds up anti-Cardi B blasphemers before the play is felt.
Mango is my favorite smell and I’m more of a fruit fly than the social butter equivalent. I die a little inside when I see somebody be honest in a not-so-obvious way. Anybody can probably spare change to the homeless, but have you ever seen somebody die instead of speaking up for themselves? Cute boys and girls that like your friend more and furlough through your fingers like mayonnaise. But who cares?
You do, and I can tell by the way your smile is a frown dialed up to 10. Forced, polite, but not effervescent. Because somebody gets too drunk and tells a story all of us are pretending to not be ignoring, and you nod along like the rest of us but your eyes give you away. Glazed, wet, and full of fire. Fighting back words on the verge of ruining everything.
Tell us.
