Why

12:21 AM

Why do they call it strength

when the body simply refuses shutdown?

Pain pulls the fire alarm;

they file out in orderly lines and call it resilience

Why does the mask pass audit?

I polish the museum-face,

set the smile to ambient,

let the earthquake happen behind glass.

Why do they name it peace

when it’s just noise under a pillow?

I map exits, breathe on the one that unlatches,

keep myself small enough to pass through policy.

Why praise the aftermath

like the building rebuilt itself?

I’m the scaffold no one budgets for.

Bolts in my teeth, shaking.

And why, after all that,

are they permitted motion

while I am the hallway that never ends?

Strong, they say.

Survived, they say.

The machine is running.

The body complied.

I am here.

I have not moved

0 comments