Justice Is Balance

"The words 'I am...' are potent words; be careful what you hitch them to. The thing you're claiming has a way of reaching back and claiming you." --A. L. Kitselman

I am an agent of chaos.

I am hot water and a long dress, unwanted touches and pale flesh.  I am me.  I am you.  I am her.  I'm the youth old men miss bad enough to take it in the only way they know how.  I am dusty fabric.  I am the olive drab of his eyes, the apple to his arrow.  I'm a trophy; I'm ashamed.

There are images that keep me up at night; thoughts that spread through my mind in a way that can only be compared to blood through water-- contaminating, dangerous, everywhere.

(I am always right.)

I hear voices, words, memories, worries, futures, and they all sicken me, they all make my head ache like bread pudding, like darts in corkboard and broken bones on ice.  

                    I'm not.
                    I'm not.
                    I'm not.
                    I'm NOT.

I am the sick, slick slip of hot desire between my thighs. I am the reek of garbage rot and beer can memories.  I am his saliva, thick and yellow-white; I glisten like his eyes.  I thought I was brave.  I am not brave.