My work / Poetry

whitehot

it’s not that i’m angry –
these bones are weathered
and old – they’ve known
homelessness
poverty
abuse
neglect
addiction
loneliness
rock-bottom.

yet still i rise above, a phoenix
resurrecting from the ashes –
my spirit is too strong for
this feeble marrow-cage.

it’s not that i’m angry –
i’m just tired, but not
splintered or broken
like it might have left
me in another time –
you just never asked,
and you never cared
enough to know.

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