Untitled

Some days, I am Chicken Little

Some days, I am Atlas

Some days, I am

Inside the names

Voiced by masked mouths

On the street.

We hold up signs

Like fragments 

Of sky,

As buildings burn

And bodies are beaten

Into the pavement.

We stand together,

As equal earth dwellers

With unequal allowance of

Existence.

Will we collapse under the weight

Of this world?

Or know ourselves as

The one that is holding,

And the one 

That is being held?

It is you, suffering

It is I, suffering

It is we, suffering.

I know not, who I am,

But only that fractured

Pain, alongside blindness to who

We are

And what is,

Cannot prevail in the days to come

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"fractured pain"...."unequal allowance of / existence"---
What is has to stop...we have to all be of one color, human.
excellent write,
j.