committed a poem, again

[storyrainthejournal]

Reality crumbling in our hands

Like some Dickian nightmare

Evidence of infection in the veins of every day

Monsters who are monsters because they

Care only about themselves and

Will only support those who either

Resemble them, fawn to them,

Or provide gratification to them,

Passively, like surfaces mapped with

Scars, the impress of

The monsters' warped psyches

Naming the monsters—white, cis, male, heterosexual—is not

Helpful, because like any monsters, they are distinct from others

Who wear the same labels and are not

Monsters

Naming doesn’t help, as it does in fairy tales

They go on raining destruction

Undermining bridges

Burning all that nurtures, protects, is beautiful or

Worthy

I, who as a child daydreamed of being one of

Arthur’s knights, I want to slay them

I guess I’ve always been a little blood thirsty

But only for the blood of the evil

Like a cursed sword, lost

In a very deep lake