The pride that’s poisoned you
Turned your blood to
Magma
The drink that’s clouded
The soft flesh
In your skull
Churned tears
From salt to sulfur
An injustice so great
Absolutely, absolutely
An injustice too large
To quantify
When you sit on a past
Full of broken bones
And unseen scars
Gifted from a man
Who’s hands were
Never clean enough
Who’s son was
Never Godly enough
His soul marred by the filth
From the germs swarming
Between the slats
Of a hardwood floor
Here’s a poem for you
A poem for the angry
To nail on your cross
A poem you can point to
While trying to market
Your own martyrdom
To the people who don’t
Believe you
Or your crusade
Of persistent victimhood
