personal

It's the shun that matters most:

that not belonging,

the unwelcome,

the we're bigger

and if no one's looking

we'll hold you down

until you can't breathe.

It's our right as the strong majority,

this is our group activity,

let's play Lord of the Flies.

and for the longest time,

you never tell

Somehow telling,

or crying about it,

or god forbid,

wreaking vengeance

is not allowed.

you're supposed to

get with the program,

face reality,

grow up,

get a grip,

let it go,

foot the bill to

keep that status quo.

The held down,

their faces are different than yours.

You can see it,

and it scares you.

They carry the light

of many as yet unleashed fires.

Their flames rile out in

tiny hot needles,

threads laser electric.

Their eyes hold yours now

with a stronger knowledge.

Their smiles

stun you,

because that smile,

it's a miracle.

It's a weapon.

That smile, it's a threat and

it's in your face.

We walk softly.

We do peace.

We know balance, and

disciplines beyond alarm clocks

and numbers, beyond

chores completed in a timely manner.

Just try and blow this

mind now.

Go ahead.

We're down,

this is our playground.

We've always lived here.

Don't mistake or include

bitterness in this equation.

This is clean rage:

scoured by an infinite exponential

number of

transcendent risings

and bruising down swoops.

Scrubbed shiny

by heads shaking back and forth

to signal NO

to signal

I CAN'T BREATHE.

the shape of skulls

grinding into the ground,

hair tangled with asphalt grit

carpet lint, dogshit.

This is not regression,

neither depression.

This is not the further repression

of the oppressed expression.

It's progression;

an evolution,

a final solution

to all your shunning:

a beauty reply coming

to set us all

free.